Horizons
by jasminedays
Summary: How do you begin again? Dusk and dawn, and the long night in between. M for language.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All characters belong to the wonderful folks at Bioware.

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Horizons

Horizon, Commander Shepard decided as she buried her face in hands that shook slightly, had been completely FUBAR. They had managed to save most of the colony, and her squad came through relatively unscathed. The Illusive Man had gotten confirmation that the Collectors were working for the Reapers, and Mordin was in his lab tinkering with the samples they had collected. From a military perspective, the Horizon mission had gone swimmingly.

Her reunion with her old crewmate, friend, and lover, however . . .

_It's all bullshit, Commander_. Jacob's words came back to her. _I couldn't agree with you more, Jacob, _she thought. Gingerly, she massaged throbbing temples, doing her best to ignore the ache that was lodged somewhere between her lungs. She had expected cynicism from the Council, although part of her had had the temerity to hope for a more reasonable attitude. But from Kaidan? Traitor, uncaring, delusional: he had thrown all those words at her. Her mouth twisted. _Sure, hero of Eden Prime, Elysium, of the Battle of the Citadel, Savior of the Council._ And what does it all boil down to? Nothing.

Her private terminal beeped. Shepard lifted her eyes and pinned the screen with an icy glare. Her dark hair was straggling out of its customary bun, and she felt like she'd been run over by a pack of varren. _Fuck you, glorified homework planner._ Commander Shepard needed fifteen solid minutes to herself to get her head on straight.

It beeped again, insistently. She bit back a growl of irritation and reached for her steaming coffee as a knock rang from her door. _Seriously?_ _If Jack and Miranda are having another catfight, someone _else _can deal with it._ A lengthy stint in the med bay might do them both some good. _Fifteen minutes where the galaxy isn't throwing everything at me, that's all I'm asking._

Instead, she took a deep breath, and allowed her commander face to settle over her features. "Come in," she called.

The door hissed open and some of the tension fell from her shoulders.

"Shepard, I," Garrus dithered for a moment, "I thought you might need an ear." If he saw the telltale redness of her eyes and shining streaks over her cheeks, he was too good to mention them. He shifted from one foot to the other, ill at ease, but determined.

She stood, a smile creeping reluctantly over her lips. It didn't quite make it to her eyes. "You know me, Garrus. I'm always fine." It was unconvincing, even to her. Softened by old memories, embittered by new ones.

His mandibles flexed and he crossed his arms. She wished he wouldn't. When he looked imposing or cocky, he looked even taller than usual . . . and she was feeling small and fragile enough as it was. "Don't, Commander. I've played enough Skyllian Five with you to know when you're bluffing. " He stepped closer as her eyes slid away. "Hey," he slid a talon under her chin. "It's me. Sit down a minute, would you?"

For an instant, his face was so close to hers. She could feel the warmth of his breath, the heat radiating off his body. His eyes, normally so feral, were intent, concerned. She allowed him to guide her to the couch tucked below her office. Part of her snapped at her to tell him to go. She was his commanding officer, for chrissakes. She needed to be cool, competent, level-headed Shepard. _Except, I'm not, right now. And he's not_. "You're a better friend than I deserve, Vakarian," she confessed.

"_Garrus,_" he corrected her. "It's always Garrus to you, Shepard." He brushed back a strand of hair from where it stuck to her damp cheekbone. His voice was a low rumble. "I know what Lieutenant Alenko said to you on Horizon must be eating at you."

She opened her mouth to wave it off, paused. He was right. He did know her. "Yes," she admitted. "I wish it had gone better." She looked up, met his piercing eyes, now bent on her. "What he said . . ." she trailed off. "I have a hard enough time convincing the rest of the galaxy I'm doing the right thing. I never expected that he would disbelieve me." She stopped. Bit her lip. "Stupid, right? Kaidan is Alliance. Soldier first, everything else, second. I wish I could see another way to carry out our mission, but there _isn't_-"

"Shepard," Garrus interrupted her. "Don't distrust your judgment, because I don't. You agonize over the best, the cleanest way to accomplish the mission. You brought Captain Taylor to justice. Oriana met her sister because of you." His hand jerked, as though he restrained himself from reaching out. His talons clenched into a fist. "I told you I would follow you into hell itself, and I meant it," he said fiercely. "You're the best thing that ever happened to this galaxy, to-" he broke off, startled as a tear splashed onto her lap. He edged closer, stemmed the flow with a careful talon. "Shepard?"

Her head dropped to his shoulder. She was tired. His armor was warm under her cheek, heated by his body, and pitted by Tarak's gunship. "You've always got my six, Garrus. Thanks." Her inner commander had stopped harassing her. Frankly, if she was honest with herself, he had been more than her subordinate ever since Omega. Those two years had changed him. _And me_.

He placed a talon over her lips, hushed her. "Always will." His voice vibrated deep in his chest and throat. She glanced up, eyes meeting the livid scars over his mandible and face. "I wish I'd been faster, Garrus."

His mandibles widened in what she had come to recognize as a turian smile. "I would never have made it out of there alive if it weren't for you." He caught her raised eyebrow, smirked. "Besides, I think they make me look dashing."

She brushed a fingertip over his scarred mandible, tentatively, surprised when he inhaled sharply and it snapped close to his face. "Does that hurt?" She snatched her hand back. "I'm sorry-"

"No," he shook his head. Had his voice dropped an octave? "Don't worry about it, Shepard." He cleared his throat, intensely aware of her eyes on him, concerned, questioning, and blue as the skies of Palavan. "Do you think you'll talk to the Lieutenant again?"

She frowned. Her features turned in on themselves as she pressed her fingers to her mouth. "No," she said. "Not . . . in the way you mean." She glanced up at him. "Normally, I'm all for second chances, but not where my heart is concerned." Her fingers twisted together in her lap. "Partners, lovers . . . support each other in every decision they make. If I can't count on him now-" when she had needed him most- "then there's no point. I can't decide to be broken up for the duration of this mission and get back together with him afterward- if there is an afterward," she added, with a grimace. "That's not a relationship." She looked up from her monologue. "You're awfully quiet, Garrus. Have I been rambling?"

"No, you just stunned me with your brilliance," he bantered. Then he sobered, catching her hands in his own. "I'm sorry, Shepard. You deserved better."

She looked down at their joined hands. Her fingers slid easily through his talons, fitting smoothly, perfectly between them. "I got better, Garrus," she said quietly. "I got you."

She amended that quickly as his mandibles twitched, and she felt heat burn along her cheekbones. "And Joker. And Chakwas. And Anderson. Really, all I need is my faithful hound, and I'm set."

"Shepard?"

She grinned. "It's a human thing, Garrus." She stood. "Thanks for coming by. "

"I'll always be here when you need me." He towered over her, and, impulsively, she hugged him. He paused_, _and she had a moment's panic- _damn, I hope that's not offensive in turian culture_– then his arms came around her uncertainly. She exhaled slowly, relaxed, stepped away.

A flicker of _something_ shot up her spine as she met his eyes. They were dark, nearly black, and hot. He rested a hand on her shoulder. "Get some rest, Commander." His mandibles widened momentarily. "You look like hell."

"Gee, thanks, " she muttered to his retreating back. Glancing at herself in the mirror over her desk, she had to agree with him, however reluctantly. She met her eyes in the mirror-

Shepard looked away sharply, shooting a glance at her door as it clicked shut. Sighing, she climbed up the stairs to her bathroom, shedding her clothing as she went. The water steamed as it hit the tiles.

She did not look in the mirror again that night.

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A/N: I'm thinking this will be more than a one-shot. Reviews are appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

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"Commander."

Shepard nodded goodbye to Gardner and turned. "Garrus?" The turian looked well. His scars would always be horrific, she knew, but he moved a great deal more fluidly now than he had in the week after his encounter with Tarak's gunship. Her eyes traveled over those scars, followed the line of his clan markings to his steady eyes.

Shit. How long had she been staring?

The turian seemed not to have noticed her inspection. He jerked his head and paced past the sleeper pods. She followed him up to the main battery. "How are our new guns working?"

"Like a charm. I'm still tweaking them, but they've integrated very well with the Normandy. I'm looking forward to seeing the looks on the Collector's faces once they realize we've upgraded." He leaned back against the console, talons gripping the edge loosely. "That's not what I'd like to talk about." The turian paused. "We're en route to Haestrom. If you haven't already made up your mind, I'd like to go with you. If Tali still has reservations about Cerberus . . ." his voice trailed off as he studied her face "which, given the incident between the Flotilla and Cerberus, she probably does, it might help to see another familiar face."

Shepard settled onto the crate in the corner of the room, bracing her elbows on her thighs and clasping her hands together loosely. "I agree. To be frank, Miranda lacks the appropriate sympathy to overcome those reservations. And Jacob is diplomatic enough, but Tali might have a hard time taking him at face value. Everyone else is a stranger to her."

Not, she reminded herself, that his presence had soothed Kaidan's ruffled feathers on Horizon. If anything, it had fueled his irritation more. And there had been testosterone-filled, macho-bullshit undercurrents to the hard looks they traded that she couldn't quite decipher. She shrugged mentally. _Men._

But Tali was far more level-headed. Practical, flexible. Coming from a race of gypsies, she had to be. She smiled. "But really, Vakarian, you're just itching for an excuse to snipe some geth, aren't you?"

He smirked, his head tilting back. "Saw right through me, Shepard. Just like old times." Laughter drifted down from the mess. Shepard glanced down the corridor to see Gardner bent over double with laughter and Dr. Chakwas red as a beet. She smiled as Garrus continued. "It would be good to have her back on the team, though. Preferably in one piece. Have you _read_ the environmental hazard warnings? Of all the places for a quarian to go."

"Professional concern, Garrus?" The words slipped out before she thought about them. Shepard blinked. _Where did that come from?_ Her cheekbones fizzled with heat and she hoped the low light hid it.

His blue eyes were amused, arms crossed over his chest. "Not really into quarians, Shepard. I like to see a woman's face when I'm sweeping her off her shoes."

He cocked his head as she smothered a laugh with her hand. "What?"

She looked up, grinning. "Feet, Garrus. You sweep women off of their feet. But you're learning."

He sighed. "Crap, I'll never hear the end of it, will I?" He scowled as she continued to chuckle. "Wait until you start trying to use turian idioms."

She waved a hand at him and strolled out of the main battery, still chuckling.

Miranda glanced up from the mess table as Shepard passed her and met her eyes, smiling.

ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME

"Damn!"

Shepard heard Garrus's exclamation through the comm, shoving away a geth who thought he could rush her on the narrow bridge. He toppled with a confused buzz to break on the stone beneath them. The sun tore at her shields with angry claws and smoked where it hit the ground around them. Shepard shivered. Despite the radiation, Haestrom was relatively chilly, and the air smelled unpleasantly acrid with burning stone. "Talk to me, Garrus."

"They're coming up the left side, trying to flank us. I suggest we take cover in that building."

Shepard and Grunt sprinted through the long bar of light. Behind her, she heard a rifle crack and a heavy thud. She braced herself against the rail and dropped a lever to open the shutters. A rush of pride went through her as three more shots rang out and Garrus slammed his back against the wall beside her, ducking into cover. He had come a long way from her indecisive, soul-searching protégé. He glanced askance at her and the sudden spray of bullets over her head spurred her heartbeat up several notches.

As they fought through the gauntlet of buildings between them and Tali, Shepard found herself envying Grunt his regenerative powers. They definitely gave him an edge over the shield-dependent geth, whose defenses rapidly deteriorated as they were forced into the light.

A familiar _whoosh_ caught her attention and her body glowed briefly as she threw a red-armored geth back from the doorway, little arcs of biotic power jumping all over her. Her pulse was pounding in her ears. She hated these new, flamethrower-toting geth with a passion. _Give me a colossus anyday._ The young krogan beside her laughed derisively as he blew the geth apart. The last of them fell with an offended chirp and Shepard broke cover, checking her radar.

Silence. She flexed her fingers, adjusted the sight on her pistol. "We're clear. Let's move." Rubble crunched under their boots as they wove through the labyrinth of buildings. Centuries of stone and history pressed down on them. Even with the discordant blast of gunfire echoing through the streets, the city felt abandoned. The scattered quarian bodies they passed made her feel as though she was walking through a necropolis. An unsettling aura of regret and loss permeated the place.

A muffled crackling echoed ahead of her. She shook off her reverie. "-is Kal Reegar, can anyone hear me? Repeat, is anyone there?"

A comm unit lay just beyond the nerveless fingers of an unmoving quarian. She and her fellows lay scattered in the corridor, broken geth units all around them. A quick scan reassured her that Tali was not among them. _What were they doing here? Why would the Admiralty Board be willing to throw away all these lives? _

Where was Tali?

She scooped up the comm. "This is Commander Shepard of the Normandy. I'm sorry, Reegar, everyone here is gone. May we offer assistance?" Grunt slammed a new heat sink into that oversized monstrosity of a shotgun, listening.

"Hell, yes." Reegar barked back. "Tali's holed up ahead of me. I can't get to her, there's a damn colossus in the way and a squad of geth. They haven't got through to her yet, though."

Her heart skipped a beat, but her voice remained steady. "You have confirmation that Tali is alive?" The turian's shoulders dropped slightly as she watched, betraying unspoken relief.

"Yes, ma'am. Now, if you don't mind my saying so, it'd be nice if you hauled ass up here. I'm harassing them, but I'm running out of heat sinks and they're massing on the other side."

Shepard nodded and adjusted her comm to the proper wavelength. Behind her, Garrus and Grunt followed suit. The young krogan's eyes had lit up at the word _colossus_, now he looked positively bloodthirsty. "Roger. Be right with you, Reegar."

Luckily, the small pockets of geth between them and Reegar were quickly mopped up. Shepard's mind raced as her body automatically aimed and fired. A colossus hadn't presented too much of a challenge back when they had the Mako, but on foot, that was a different story. One or two times, a group of the tank-like geth had managed to drop the vehicle's shields, and she'd been forced to snipe from the high ground, but she doubted she would get the benefit of a steep hill and a sniper's perch on Haestrom.

Her stomach twisted as she entered a windowless room. Bodies littered the floor and blood formed a sticky carpet under their feet.

_Thank God I picked up that Collector rifle_. She was still a little leery of using it, it felt unnatural in her hands, twisted and slick, and the sharp screeching as it fired did not endear it to her. But, as heavy weapons went, she couldn't do better. Even the missile launcher didn't have that kind of kick.

She swiveled as Tali's voice echoed in the room, relaxed when she saw the open terminal. The quarian's voice was a welcome sound. Her heart tightened a little as she caught the wistfulness in Tali's voice as she took in her first glimpse of the city of her ancestors.

"_I wish my friends could see it. I wish Shepard was here."_

"-Tali Zorah to base camp-"

Shepard smiled and strode over to the terminal where Tali's holo appeared. "Wish granted, Tali." She opened a comm link. "Tali? Everyone here is gone. Kal Reegar is alive; he's holding the geth off of you."

"Shepard?" Tali sounded bewildered. "Not that I'm ungrateful, but what are you doing on Haestrom?"

_Well, my scheming evil overlord wants me to recruit you for a suicide mission._

No, that probably wouldn't go over well.

"I was in the neighborhood," she replied vaguely. "Thought you might need a hand."

"Several heavy missiles might be handy," the young quarian said dryly. "The door is holding, but that damn colossus keeps trying to hack it when it's not busy shooting at my team."

"We'll be there soon, Tali. Hang in there."

"Understood." Tali bypassed the door for them. "And, Shepard? Do what you can to keep Reegar alive."

"Of course," Shepard replied briskly, drawing her pistol and stepping through the door.

She hit the shutters and got her first glimpse of the colossus on the other side as it turned its flashlight head in their direction.

"Aw, shi-" Garrus bit out as it began to charge up its cannon.

"Get down!" She shoved him and Grunt to the floor, adrenaline surging through her veins like a shockwave as the missile roared over their heads to shatter the wall in front of them. Dust and debris rained down, choking the air. Grunt cracked his knuckles, a wild gleam in his eye as they sprinted for the door.

"Definitely like old times." Garrus sounded almost cheerful, and she spared him a look of incredulity before ducking into cover beside a male quarian who could only be Reegar. She slid into cover beside him, sizing him up. He was unusually muscular for a quarian, which probably accounted for the ease with which he handled that rocket launcher. But the way he sagged back against the wall after blasting an approaching geth boded ill. "Reegar, are you hurt? Suit puncture?"

"Yeah, one of the bastards sniped me. Ripped my suit, but it's isolated now. I'm not going to win any races," he slapped the rocket launcher with one hand, "but I can keep 'em busy."

A bolt of energy slammed into the wall, rattling them. Shepard risked a quick glimpse over the battlefield. There- a raised area on the right. "I need you to cover my back, Reegar. Stay here."

"With all due respect, ma'am-" the quarian began hotly-

_-"why is it whenever someone says 'with all due respect,' they really mean 'kiss my ass'"- _ Ashley's voice ghosted mockingly through the back of her mind. Shepard snarled and slammed the quarian back into cover. "I need you _here_ in case the geth drop more troops, Reegar. This isn't a fucking pity job, and I don't have time to argue with you about it."

The quarian marine fumed. "Ok. We'll try it your way, Shepard." Behind her, Grunt blasted a geth trying to storm the ramp, exulting. She nodded, clapping Reegar's shoulder before armoring herself in glowing blue.

"Right." Her grin was feral. "Let's go kill ourselves a colossus."

ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME

"Scoped and dropped!"

The sharp crack of the rifle was the sweetest sound she'd ever heard. Shepard closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall and a broad smile spread across her face as her radar ran clean. "You've gotten more cocky, Garrus," she accused.

"I've also become more talented," he replied smugly. He nodded toward her shoulder as they climbed down to Tali's holdout. "Nasty burn. That colossus got you good."

"I'll see Chakwas when we're back on board the Normandy," she replied, her mind on the quarian who opened the door for them.

Tali glanced back at them briefly. "Just one moment, Shepard, while I collect this data." Her omni-tool pulsed rapidly before she turned around. The glowing ovals where her eyes should be widened behind her mask. "Garrus,you too?"

Unlike Kaiden, Tali spoke without venom. She sounded pleasantly surprised as she continued. "I didn't think I'd ever run into you again."

The turian shrugged, glancing at Shepard. "You probably wouldn't, if not for the commander. I'll tell you later." He glanced back toward the door. "Reegar might need a hand. Excuse me." He paused at the door with exquisite timing, glanced back at the quarian. "It's good to see you again, Tali."

Shepard smiled at him gratefully as he left, then turned her attention to Tali once more. The quarian was eyeing her with frank curiosity. "Shepard, back on Freedom's Progress," she began. "you asked me to come with you. Is that why you're here?"

Shepard nodded, meeting her eyes. "I was hoping you could join us, Tali. How is Veetor?"

"Better," Tali replied, a smile in her voice. "Much better. Thank you, Shepard. For him and for Reegar. Now that my mission is done, I'd be happy to come back to the Normandy."

Reegar walked haltingly into the room, one hand on Garrus's shoulder. "Ma'am?" he asked, and Shepard knew he wasn't talking to her.

"Reegar!" Tali's voice was limp with relief. She embraced the squad leader fiercely, stepped back. "Thank Keelah. I have the Admiralty Board's data . . . but I'm afraid I won't be coming back with you." She fiddled with her omni-tool, streaming data. "I'm joining Shepard."

Shepard met Reegar's appraisal warmly as his helmeted head swiveled in her direction. "I'm glad you were here for Tali, Reegar."

Reegar nodded, turning his attention to Tali once more. "I'll inform the Board, ma'am. Good luck." He approached Shepard, doing his best to conceal a limp, and extended a hand. "Take care of her, Commander. If she has to go, I'm glad it's with you."

She clasped hands with him firmly. "Take care, Reegar."

ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME

"So, Garrus."

The turian turned toward Tali. Shepard was listening to Grunt recount the battle with the colossus, her eyes a bit glazed as the young krogan narrated the gunfight for the pilot. "When did you become Shepard's XO?"

His mandible dropped a little in shock. "I'm not . . ." he backpedaled. "Miranda Lawson is Shepard's XO. She's very . . . efficient." Tali cocked her head, her posture stiffening slightly before Garrus continued, "and completely devoted to the Commander. Shepard helped her save her sister a few weeks back. " He paused. "I know you don't like Cerberus, Tali- and I don't trust them as far as I can throw the Normandy. But as individuals, they're good people. They believe in her."

Tali propped her chin on fisted hands. "It's hard not to trust her. Even with Cerberus in the picture. But you've made your point. I'll be professional." She looked at him sidelong, face inscrutable through her violet faceplate. "For someone who isn't her XO, you're pretty convincing, wingman."

"You aren't seriously going to go around calling me that."

Tali chuckled as Grunt demonstrated the colossus exploding with wildly waving hands. "I am now."

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Reviews are very much appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

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Miranda looked up in surprise as her door hissed open and Vakarian strode through. The turian paced up to her desk like a panther about to take down a deer. He planted his hands firmly on the edge of her desk, hard eyes boring into hers, and gritted out, "I _don't_ like being used as bait, Operative Lawson. I don't like being turned into a big fucking target. I _really_ don't like being lied to by your boss when I've taken this job in good faith."

Alien cultural guides, Miranda recalled vaguely, said quite explicitly never to antagonize a turian when he started growling. Which Vakarian was. She noted the tension in his rigid shoulders, and saw his talons digging into her desk with an inward grimace. _I really hope he doesn't leave dents._

Miranda sighed and stood, putting them on equal footing. She propped her hands on her hips, but her attitude was resigned rather than arrogant, studying her terminal screen. "I understand where you're coming from, Vakarian. In your position, I'd be upset." Her mouth twisted in irritation as she looked up at him. "Hell, I am upset. I left my father because I was tired of being manipulated. But the Illusive Man isn't pulling our strings for his own amusement, and he genuinely believes in our mission. If he acts like a puppetmaster sometimes, it's because he's convinced there's no other way." She moved to the chair by her window, invited the turian to sit.

He didn't, but he relaxed somewhat under her agreement, leaning a hip against her desk. His eyes never left her face. "We both know the Collectors would love to get their hands on Shepard. The Illusive Man withheld information and sent us into that ship blind."

And that, Miranda realized, was the crux of it. Shepard. Garrus understood that their mission was dangerous, and knew that all of them, the commander included, had to put themselves in harm's way, but hell if he was going to allow her to be endangered unnecessarily.

"I know you care a great deal about the commander," Miranda began, noting the turian's hard, near-black eyes. There was an undercurrent to his anger, and it tasted like fear to her. His face-plates glinted like bone under the soft white lighting of her office. "She's important to all of us. I can't promise this won't happen again, but I do share your concerns, and I will include them in my report." She hesitated, then extended a hand. "And I, at least, will never withhold information from Shepard."

She smiled as he took her outstretched hand, shook it once. "And I'm damn glad you were with us when the Collectors dropped that Praetorian on us, Garrus."

He paused. Miranda was relieved and pleased to notice that the turian had stopped growling. His voice sounded much calmer, even reluctantly friendly. "You know, I have a few books on turian tactics I could loan you. You might find them interesting."

She smiled. "I'd like that. If the commander hasn't purloined them already."

Garrus grinned back at her over his shoulder as he left. "They're a few of her favorites. Miranda." With that parting shot, he left.

Miranda seated herself at her desk again. "Who says we can't learn anything from aliens?" She smirked as she imagined the look on her father's face if he knew she was giving so much credence to a turian.

_Shows what he knew. Ass._

Still with the hint of a smirk on her face, she went back to work.

ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME

She woke up gasping for air.

Commander Shepard stared blankly into the blue-lit darkness of her quarters. The fish tank hummed quietly, shimmering and empty. Shepard put a hand to her throat, reliving the burning in her lungs. The fear still filled her mind as the Normandy burst into flames before her eyes once more, the fire a terrible and beautiful light in the consuming darkness. The sheets were tangled around her legs and one pillow had fallen to the floor as she thrashed in her sleep. Strands of hair clung to her face damply, with sweat or tears, she couldn't say.

Cerberus had wanted her memories as intact as possible. The moment of her death was as vivid now as it had been two years ago. She crossed her legs, sitting in the center of her bed and tried to steady her breathing the way Samara had shown her. Her hands clenched on her knees and her temples throbbed with the force of her concentration. Her heart was still pounding painfully against her ribs and her throat was dry and hoarse. Shepard hoped she hadn't been screaming. Kelly would have a field day if she found out about these night terrors. Hopefully EDI wouldn't take it upon herself to tell her.

Silently, she slipped from her bed. The air was cold on her bare legs. Shepard splashed cold water on her face, but the icy chill failed to dismiss her nightmares.

She sighed. _Like a dash of water is going to make me feel better about reliving my own death._ She stepped into loose black pants, ignored the sharp ache where the Praetorian's beam had sliced across her thigh. Her quick regeneration had ceased to upset her weeks ago, now she could almost accept it as normal, along with her heightened muscle definition, and the improvement of her strength and reflexes.

_I doubt anyone will be up to see the commander snatching a cup of tea. _Hopefully if they saw her, they would think that she had been up looking over reports.

_Yeah. At 0348. Good luck selling that one._ Barefoot, she stepped into the elevator.

Silence. Slightly relieved, she went to the kitchen, wiping the fine sheen of cold sweat from her brow. She normally sweetened her tea, but now she wanted to wash the taste of fear out of her mouth. Shepard stood in Gardner's usual post, leaning back against the counter and trying not to think about anything beyond the hot tendrils of steam caressing her face.

"Shepard?"

She blinked, and looked up. _Good, not Kelly._ "Samara. I'm surprised to see anyone up."

The asari inclined her head. "I do not require a great deal of sleep. I was meditating when someone's – distress – disturbed my concentration."

Shepard smiled crookedly. "Ah. Sorry. That was probably me."

"The sensation was very . . . intense. May I ask?"

Shepard gestured to the mess table and slid into a seat across from the justicar. "My memories are much more vivid since I've been . . . revived. I was dreaming. Reliving my last few minutes after the Normandy 1 was attacked by the Collectors." She studied the swirl of steam rising from her cup. "I tried to use some of those breathing techniques you've been demonstrating, but I think I need more practice." She looked up and met the asari's pale blue eyes. "How did you know?" she asked. Her curiosity was almost enough to distract her.

The justicar smiled. "Do you remember what the asari courier told you on Illium about sensing your aura? My senses are just a little keener, perhaps due to the training I underwent. "

"Like mindreading?" Shepard hazarded.

Samara smiled. _Why did Kelly ever call her cold?_ "Asari are not telepathic, commander. I would explain it as sensing fluctuations in your aura. The stronger the person, the farther those fluctuations emanate. Your great distress, and your great presence, were sufficient to alert me that something was amiss." The light glinted, jewel-like, over her dark crest. "I imagine that reliving your own death would be traumatizing. I am sorry." She did not reach across the table, or extend any other gesture of support, but the sympathy was there in her serene face. "If you like, I could continue to teach you meditation." Her eyes darkened briefly. "I know what it is to live with memories you would rather forget."

"Thank you," Shepard replied softly. She finished the last of her tea and stood. "I'd like that. I'll make sure to stop by later today." She placed the cup in the dishwasher. "And thank you for listening, Samara."

The asari dipped her head. "I am always here to talk, commander." The heels of her boots echoed quietly as she retreated to her contemplation of the star-strewn emptiness.

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In the end, she ended up showered, dressed, and in the Normandy's shooting range until 0600. Targets on the other end of the cargo bay, nearly thumb-size at this range, were all lined up, sporting identical wounds in the center of their foreheads. None of the shots were further than two centimeters apart. Shepard blinked, still surprised that the glide of eyelids over cybernetics should feel so natural. There were perks to being a cyborg. She smiled sardonically.

At least her eyes no longer glowed around the pupils. She set down her pistol, picked up the assault rifle lying next to it.

She toyed with the Vindicator she'd picked up on the Collector ship as the targets glided closer. For a moment, she felt his hands on hers, guiding her through a crash-course lesson on the weapon. Her fingers tightened momentarily around the gun and she sighed.

As though the thought had summoned him, she heard light footsteps behind her. For such a tall man, he moved in near-silence. The turian came to stand beside her, watching as the ship set up new targets.

"Still not sleeping, commander?" The new targets rustled into place and he drew his rifle, sighting down the scope.

"What makes you say that?" she asked lightly, placing her gun on the dividing wall. The recoil of the rifle barely jogged his shoulder as it tore a neat hole through a target's heart. She noticed he varied his shots a little, sometimes aiming for the head, other times for vital organs or a thigh, intending to lame. She noted that last one with a twinge of unease. She rarely shot deliberately to cripple a target, unless she needed to slow or interrogate him. The turian's perfect familiarity with such a shot told her more than she wanted to know about his time on Omega.

He glanced at her sidelong when the chamber was spent. "You have shadows under your eyes that would make a drell jealous, Shepard."

_At least he didn't say "green with envy." _She could never take bad puns with less than six hours of sleep. Nettled, she shot back, "You sure know how to flatter a girl, Garrus."

He nodded to the assault rifle she'd set down. "Let's see how you're doing , Shepard."

She smirked. "You want to arm me after insulting me?"

He smirked back. "Impress me, commander."

She scowled, picking up the rifle and bringing it to bear on the targets. Her first shot took it through the shoulder. She exhaled, missing the familiar grip of her pistol. The commander's next shots were closer to the midline, and at least she never missed.

However, she had only to look between Garrus' targets and her own to see the difference. She shrugged. "At least I've got biotics, right?"

"Mmm," was all he said. He stepped behind her, turning her toward the targets again when she shifted to look at him. "You're not firing a pistol anymore, Shepard." He nudged her feet farther apart, widening her stance before his hands slid up her arms, shaping them. "So stop thinking like you are," he said into her ear.

Her breathing shallowed. His armor pressed against her back, her arms, his head bent towards hers. "Right," she replied, aiming for a flippant response.

She missed.

He chuckled and guided her arms back, bracing the butt of the gun firmly against her shoulder. "You know the drill." His voice was practically a purr in her ear. "Inhale. Exhale. Fire."

A string of bullets ripped through the target's chest. She paused, hyperaware of her surroundings, as she always was around gunfire. Garrus' breath was a steady heat against her neck, barely stirring the small fine hairs at the nape. She shivered.

"Again," he said.

He kept her there until she's had five consecutive rounds of headshots. "Perfect," he breathed into her ear with quiet satisfaction. She turned to face him, looking up the scant inches into his face before smiling slyly.

"I knew you had some flattery in you."

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Shepard had eluded them again.

Once again, he felt the dissatisfaction of working through puppets. His hold on the vessel tightened until it shredded nerves and neurons, punishing the adapted brain. Its mindless chirps and screeches were gratifying, but not profitable. He released it, leaving it a twitching mass on the floor of the ship. The pain was purely psychogenic. It would recover.

_You will contact the Shadow Broker once more. What they did before, they may do again. Instruct him to ensure the doctor will not be in a position to aid them._

The vessel's many legs whirred and it lifted its large, oblong head to look at the blinking terminal.

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A/N: I took some liberties with asari abilities, but I've tried to keep it believable. Hope you liked it!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

* * *

The thing that bothered her most about Omega was the light. Artificial, sullen, and red, it lacked the warmth of sunlight, the clarity of starlight, or the softness of moonlight. Omega had few windows to the outside system, few places for people to look out and dream of something better.

The isolation felt stifling to her, who was used to seeing the stars. Even as a child on Earth, she had been able to look up at the galaxy some nights, when the smog wasn't too bad, and the power had failed again in the Tenth Street district. When she was thirteen, she had stolen a telescope and used it on clear nights. When she was fifteen, Picks had found it. The weasel-faced bastard had always had it out for her, ever since she rebuffed him. Picks thought being older and higher up in the Reds gave him the right to screw her; she corrected him with five inches of steel. Months later, he had his revenge. He crushed her telescope and taunted her with the pieces.

That was the first time she had killed a man.

His narrow rodent eyes swam up in her memory, neatly bisected by a dark hole. She gritted her teeth, fighting the processes Cerberus had used to enhance her memory. It was disorienting to recall particularly emotional events in her life; in a way, they were more like hallucinations than memories. While she recalled them, she became a participant, bringing the script to its inevitable conclusion.

EDI broke into her thoughts. "_Commander, I cannot track Samara's fugitive through local channels. Aria T 'Loak may, however, have the necessary informati_on."

She shook off the memories. "Thanks, EDI."

Her hand never strayed far from her pistol as she made her way through the bar. She ignored the usual catcalls and drunken challenges, side-stepping a heavily scarred batarian as she made her way to Aria's lounge. Garrus and Samara trailed her, the asari moving with her accustomed impervious serenity, the turian wary, his eyes constantly scanning the crowd. Afterlife's patrons gave him a wide berth, whether it was due to the wicked scarring on his face, or the clear message of _fuck off _that he radiated, she didn't know.

"You know, Garrus, when this is all over, you could hire yourself out as a bodyguard," she commented. Her eyes gleamed with amusement as she glanced at him over her shoulder. "I haven't had one person try to pick my pocket since we came in."

The turian didn't bat an eyelash. "And give up the chance to face suicidal odds every day?"

"To be fair," Samara interrupted gently, "it has been almost three days since the Commander last put us in that position."

Garrus smirked. "Only because she was strip-mining the entire Krogan DMZ system."

Shepard threw him a dirty look. "That's quite enough from the peanut gallery."

Omega's CEO was deep in conversation with the turian who had held a gun to the commander's head when she first met Aria. Her manner was, as usual, calculating, cool, and controlled, but Shepard noted the way the turian leaned in to talk to her. _Interesting_. She filed that bit of information away as the asari looked sidelong at her, then arched a tattoed eyebrow. She broke off the conversation, gesturing Shepard to sit.

"What brings you to Omega this time, Shepard?"

She kept a smile from her face. Since she had delivered Jaroth's datapad to her, Aria had become much more willing to talk to her. They still played their cat-and-mouse game when she infringed on any personal questions, but Shepard had never expected transparency from the woman who ran Omega.

"I'm looking for someone. An asari fugitive recently arrived here." She noted the way Aria's eyes scanned her squad, lingering, with a smirk of satisfaction, on Garrus.

"Really? And I thought Mordin and Archangel were already so useful. I never asked if you got him out alive, did I?" Aria looked like a cat with a particularly chubby mouse.

Shepard answered her with a steely smile. _Let's not spread that around, shall we?_ "She's an Ardat-Yakshi. Your network may have noticed a few more burned-out corpses lying around."

For a beat, the asari looked almost surprised, then her eyes narrowed. "I knew it," she hissed. She crossed her legs, sitting up straighter as she swiveled to Shepard. "Ardat-Yakshi don't leave corpses, they leave husks."

"You haven't tried to remove her?" Samara asked, astonished.

Aria shrugged, disappearing beneath her icy facade once more. "Why would I? She hasn't tried to seduce me."

"Yet," Garrus said softly.

Blue eyes hard, the asari stared at him, drumming her fingers on the black leather of her seat. At length, she turned to Shepard. "Her last victim was a human in the tenements. One of my men will give you directions." Her smile cut like a knife. "It was nice to see you again . . . Shepard." Once more, her gaze lingered on Garrus. Shepard tensed, but Aria kept her suspicions to herself.

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"Let me get this straight," Garrus drew her aside. "You're going to put yourself out as bait for a centuries-old serial-killer?" His eyes burned like blue fire.

"Samara will be watching, Garrus." She avoided sarcasm. She had known it might come down to this "And you'll be with her. I brought you because you know this station, and because I trust you to follow orders."

The turian exhaled sharply in frustration, one hand flying to his fringe. "Damn it, Shepard, just point her out. I'll drop her from fifty meters away and no one will be the wiser. Cerberus didn't bring you back to be used as bait for one psychotic asari!"

"Believe me, you would not get close enough to shoot her, Vakarian." Samara approached them. "Morinth is cagey. She would sense your presence before you could even line up your gun, and disappear. The commander is fully capable of playing her part, and we will be with her."

Shepard ignored Samara, holding his eyes. "You know Omega. I need you to work with Samara on this one, Garrus." The justicar tactfully withdrew.

"I don't like it, Shepard," he gritted out.

"I know, Garrus," she replied. She laid a hand on his shoulder, ignoring the growl he was attempting to cover. "I'm not crazy about it either. But I trust you to watch my back."

He sighed, looking at her for a long moment before he gave in. "I've got your six." His hand shot out as she turned away, grabbing her arm.

She looked up at him, eyebrows raised. "If it all goes to hell, though, promise me this, Shepard." His talons tightened on her arm. "Promise me you'll get the hell out of there."

She covered his hand. "You don't need to convince me, Garrus." He didn't blink, and she sighed. "Yes, I promise." She broke away. "Now let's get this over with."

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It was disorienting to speak with Morinth. The asari could have been a clone of her mother, from dark, glinting crest to pale eyes. But then she would smile, and Shepard had to suppress every instinct that told her she was sitting across the table from a predator. The justicar had never lavished such calculating, promising smiles on anyone. It was a stranger's expression on Samara's face, and every cell in her body was in revolt against it.

Instead, she smiled and made small talk, letting her eyes drift over the asari's face as though she were enticed by what was being offered there. She affected interest when Morinth leaned toward her to brush her fingertips over her hand. She accepted her invitation to go with her to her apartment.

_For a serial-killer's lair, it's pretty classy._ Shepard mused. Large windows opened up the room; crappy view, but an excellent perspective for any sniper positioned outside.

She sensed the asari's eyes on her as she examined the sword that hung on the wall. The back of her neck prickled, but she kept even the thought of tension from her shoulders. Morinth clearly liked games, the chess board and the sword she displayed made that obvious.

Just as clearly, she liked winning.

Leisurely, Shepard strolled to the couch, sitting down and leaning back carelessly. Inwardly, she was re-living her encounters with every sick bastard on Tenth Street. And none of them scared her like Morinth did.

The asari was exerting herself to be charming, at home in her role as _femme fatale_. As her hints became less subtle, and she began to edge closer, Shepard let a touch of rebellion enter her voice. She could feel the asari's mind making tentative brushes with hers, and it unnerved her. The Ardat-Yakshi did not seem unduly disturbed, and eased down beside her, uncomfortably close. "I think we're alike, you and I." the asari stated, studying her face with pale eyes. "I think that's why you came here tonight, with me," she added.

Shepard met her eyes calmly. "We've both killed many times, Morinth. But that's where the similarities end."

The asari's face tightened with suspicion. "Have we? What game are you playing- I didn't even ask your name. How rude of me." Abruptly, she smiled, posture relaxing and Shepard almost recoiled from the creature that stared out at her from the asari's face.

Black eyes bored into her, flat and cold like an Earth shark's, her face the pale blue-white of a drowned corpse. An insidious voice crept through her mind. _Tell me you want me. Tell me you'd kill for me. Anything I want._

Shepard looked over the asari's shoulder briefly, not seeing the sniper she knew was outside, but nevertheless, knowing he was there. She allowed the steel of years of command to harden her features and retorted quietly. "Don't count on it."

Morinth blinked, the demon's mask falling from her face in confusion. "You- no. I see. So the bitch found herself a little puppet," she snarled. Surprise gave way to understanding, then feral anger. A blue pulse threw Shepard against the opposite wall before she raised her barriers. The asari stood, but before she could reach her, her crest spurted blue as a bullet clipped her from behind. She whirled, distracted, and then Samara arrived.

Her own barriers protected her from the biotics ripping through the room, and Shepard stood, bracing herself against the wall. She responded to Samara's distracted inquiry – "I'm fine!"

No more shots came through the window, but Shepard was hardly surprised. Biotics swarmed over the two asari like water, tumbling between the airborne furniture like rapids around rocks. Getting a clear shot into that maelstrom would be impossible.

Her comm crackled. "_I can't get a clear shot, Commander."_

"Samara has it under control, Garrus," she replied. _I hope._ She eyed the blue surge around the asari. Samara's serenity was gone, displaced by fierce concentration; Morinth was panting with effort, eyes fierce and glittering. With a start, Shepard realized that mother and daughter were equally matched.

Morinth's eyes never left her mother. "You see? I'm as good as her. Let me join you."

"_Shepard, I can't see a damned thing from here. I'll be there soon."_

"Roger. Samara-" the asari winced as a snippet of power sliced her arm and Shepard pushed through the maelstrom. The justicar's voice was urgent, "I am already bound to you, Shepard. Help me end this."

"I know," she said grimly. Morinth spared her a glance as she grabbed the asari's arm.

"Wait-"

A burst of her own biotics sent the woman sprawling on the floor, then Morinth retaliated, slamming her into the wall with an audible crunch. Her head cracked against the wall and stars danced before her eyes. Shepard felt the sword's edge cut into her back, opening a line of pain, before she slid to the floor. Before Morinth could attack again, the justicar was on her, blue fire pinning her in place. Her vision wavered in and out, the scene before her unfolding like a stop-motion film.

The asari's voice was low, unreadable. "Find peace in the embrace of the Goddess."

Shepard averted her eyes as she killed her daughter; hurried footsteps at the door made her look up and she found herself looking past the barrel of an assault rifle into furious blue eyes.

She blinked and suddenly he was kneeling over her. Behind him, Samara stood slowly, shoulders bowed, her back to the commander. Shepard smiled as he cursed. "Relax, Garrus, it's only a concu-"

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A faint, steady beeping crept into her dreams, pulling her from sleep. She opened her eyes a crack and suppressed a moan. Her head pounded and her mouth was dry. Everything was fuzzy and gravity kept swooping sideways. Around her, the med bay was gray and dimly lit, and a tall figure paced by the window.

She struggled to sit up.

Instantly, the figure had moved, pressing her back down. "Chakwas is on the second deck with Mordin. Apparently, painkillers don't do a lot for you anymore, Commander. Did you know you're on enough tranqs to drop an elcor?"

She relaxed as she recognized the turian's familiar voice. "That explains a lot." The med bay was an impressionist painting of gray shadows.

"What possessed you to do something so reckless?"

She batted his hands aside, bracing herself against the wall with a wince. Undeterred, he leaned over her, talons splayed on either side of her hips. His eyes were inches from hers, and, seeing remarkably well in the low lighting, she could also make out how very angry he was.

"It was only a concuss- concusshhhun, Garrus." She rotated her shoulder experimentally, looking down to the bandages wrapped around her torso. "Ok, and maybe a couple of bruised ribs. It could've been a _lot_-"

He jerked her chin up. "You could have been dead." he hissed.

His jaw tightened as she met his eyes. "You're awfully worried about me, Garrus." Still in a half-drugged haze, she leaned closer to him. Her head fell and she lolled to the side as gravity shifted directions again.

He caught her carefully.

She saw him swallow, then his eyes closed and his forehead pressed against hers. "Shepard, you're about the only friend I have left in this damn galaxy," he whispered. His talons tightened in her hair where he cradled the back of her head. Heat and guilt poured off him. "I couldn't see a damn thing back there. I didn't think I would reach you in time."

She reached up, cupped his face, fingers molding curiously around his undamaged mandible. "Samara did just fine, Garrus. She woodnnve - wouldn't 'ave – wouldn've" Shepard stumbled, her words slurring together. She gave up on telling him about Samara. "Besides, you got there in plenny of time. An' I'm perfectly peachy." She was obscurely pleased with her alliteration.

He chuckled hoarsely as her head dropped to his shoulder. His voice was a warm purr against her ear, stirring her hair gently. "Someday, Shepard, I'm getting you wasted."

A mumbled "Bring it," was his only answer before her body went limp with sleep in his arms.

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Please don't hurt me for putting in more unresolved sexual tension. Review instead! =D


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

* * *

Jack, Tali and Kelly contemplated their commander and the turian vigilante as they stand talking together by the gunnery.

"So," said Jack, with all her usual subtlety, "think they're screwing each other?"

Tali frowned behind her mask. "That's not exactly how I'd put it."

Kelly sighed, misty-eyed, and propped her chin on her hand. "I wouldn't turn him down." She blinked as the other women's heads swiveled towards her. "Oh, come on! Like you don't agree with me! A bitter, lonely soldier who spent the past two years searching for justice in an unforgiving galaxy? How can you resist?" She swirled the ice cubes in her glass, wishing for a shot of strawberry liquor instead of ship-filtered water.

"I think you're romanticizing him," Tali commented, breaking into her umbrella-drinks-and-white-sand-beaches daydream. Which may or may not have featured shirtless cabana boys. Kelly pouted.

"That armor does wonders for his ass," Jack observed.

Kelly turned to her with a bright expression and guileless green eyes wide. "Do you find other species attractive, Jack?"

The biotic wasn't a bit taken in. "Stay outta my head, shrink. Youhave a nice ass too, but I sure as hell wouldn't jump _you_."

Kelly smiled and sipped her water.

Tali, meanwhile, was drumming her fingers on the mess table. "I give them until we reach the Citadel before they fall into bed together."

Jack smirked. "I'll take it. Two hundred credits says they're already knocking boots."

"One month," Kelly threw in.

Miranda cleared her throat behind Tali. The quarian started guiltily.

"One week," the woman murmured, before continuing to her office.

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Shepard left the battery, masking the worry eating at her. The last time she had seen Garrus this intent had been when they were pursuing Dr. Saleon. _And even then, he wasn't this obsessed. His behavior the past few days makes that episode look tame._ Even Mordin was steering clear of him, and the salarian was usually blissfully immune to "hormone-driven emotional extremes."

He was like a reactor that was overheating. Soon enough he would explode, and God help anyone in a fifty-yard vicinity. Years of discipline in the turian army, in C-Sec, were barely containing his nervous energy. The turian was constantly edgy, and kept forgetting to pull his punches in the sparring matches she had proposed, in the hopes that they would calm him down.

_Just can't catch a break, can he?_ No sooner had his icy demeanor with Samara begun to thaw then he received a tip on Sidonis. The turian was operating on hair-trigger.

_That's something else I need to bring up._ His resentment toward Samara for putting the commander in danger had been a discordant thread on the ship. While she was touched by his concern, and, she'd admit, inexplicably flattered, the fact remained that they couldn't afford to hold grudges on this mission. _Won't _that_ be a fun conversation._

She smiled at the trio of women at the mess table. An unlikely group, but it was good to see everyone getting along. She just hoped their camaraderie would be enough in the end.

His eyes followed her as she left.

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He found her, as he knew he would, in the starboard observation room. That was how Shepard dealt with her stress. If she wasn't shooting holes in something, she was stargazing.

The cold points of light she was so intent upon were the room's only illumination. They slid past the ship slowly, glittering against the deep blackness. Her hands were clasped loosely behind her back, loose ribbons of dark hair had escaped their confines to curl against her neck.

"Garrus." She turned her head briefly to look at him. Her eyes were unreadable in the dim light.

He crossed the short expanse between them. The light painted a pale blue wash over her face, pearly over her skin, her eyes colorless and remote. A trace of unhappiness lingered around her.

"I thought I'd go crazy if I kept staring at the walls in the battery." He sighed in frustration. "It's the damndest thing, commander. I see his face everywhere." The turian shook his head, mandibles twitching irritably. "And when I don't see him, I see my men." His scar itched. "I want him in my scope." He refrained from pacing. He'd done enough of that already. He was restless, distracted, and the old hatred was eating away at him, bubbling like acid in his brain.

She glanced at him sidelong, the clean lines of her profile marred by the shadows in her eyes. "We'll be at the Citadel in a few more hours, Garrus." Her posture was impeccably military and correct. Her voice was unerringly calm and polite. It wasn't her own – not with him, at least.

He studied her a moment, leaning back against the window's edge. The shadow of the frame split his face, the light lingering on his scars, the smooth sheen of his plates broken by jagged pits. His arms were crossed over his chest, talons balling into fists, unseen. "You don't approve of my killing him," he stated at last. His voice was as cool as hers, but under the flat words, he was boiling.

This time, she turned to him fully. One hand went to her hair, raking through it and leaving disorder in its wake. Her shoulders were tense, until she released them with a sigh of resignation. "No," she admitted."I don't like it."

He hadn't really expected understanding from her; the incident with Dr. Saleon had exposed her attitude toward vengeance. But her disapproval, her _disappointment _was maddening for reasons he couldn't quite articulate. Shepard was his fellow soldier, his former mentor, and his closest friend, but she had no right to judge him. While she had lain in changeless oblivion these past two years, Garrus had grown old. He knew the bitterness of betrayal, even if she didn't. He wanted to push her off her damn pedestal, drag her down to where he was in the muck and venom of his obsession. "What would you do if someone betrayed you, Shepard?"

She regarded him across the chasm between them, the wide strip of light that separated their two shifting shadows. "I warned Liara not to turn into what she was hunting." she said softly. She folded her arms over her chest as though she were cold, shoulders hunched and head bowed. Her shadow crumpled from its elongation. "You saw how bitter she's become. How consumed." Star-silvered eyes looked up at him sadly. _Wolf eyes,_ he'd heard Miranda call them once, but there was no fire in them now. Only emptiness. "I don't want that to happen to you."

He saw how she curled around herself, as though to protect a wound. He felt guilty for baiting her. "A lot happened while you were gone," he said, as gently as he could. "People change." _And that must be the hardest thing for you, because you haven't changed at all. Shepard._

"I know," she replied, with an odd little twist to her smile. "But for me, it feels as though I only slept a night. Not two years, Garrus." She shook her head, staring into the abyss. The sudden hum of the ventilation snatched away her scent, metal, cotton and some strange Earth flower. But her voice went on. "Sometimes I feel like it's all I can do to keep up."

He slipped closer, silently, and laid a cautious hand on her shoulder. "We're all with you, Shepard."

She reached up, interlacing her fingers with his talons. Her gaze never broke from his. "Killing him won't bring any of them back, Garrus. I should know, I've tried." Her smile was tired.

"My men deserved better," he said softly, harshly. "I owe it to them." He bent over her upturned face, stung by the distress there. Her fingers tightened under his, and she felt his gravity pulling her in. The hollow ache in his heart where his team had been reached out to consume everything around it, and his hard eyes were drained with bitterness and longing. "I buried ten good men in unmarked graves. They deserve justice."

Her eyes, so near to his, looked steadily back. Her face was smooth, unlined, veiled with the serene and knowing unhappiness of a Buddhist statue. "It's not like you to be so cold."

He closed his eyes, a sharp sigh breaking from him as he shook his head in helpless anger. So close, that earthly flower filled his lungs with soft perfume, tempered by the tang of metal. It only served to remind him that once he had thought he would never smell it again. "Damn it, Shepard, what do you want from me?"

She made as though to reach up, but her hand faltered and fell. "Stop carrying those men on your shoulders, Garrus," she said quietly. His head dropped, mandibles jerking wide as he began to shape an angry retort. His hand tensed on hers, almost painfully, and she could feel the vibrations deep in his chest.

Whatever he was about to say was lost as Joker's voice came in over the intercom. _"Two hours out from the Citadel, commander."_

Garrus went still, eyes icy and hard. Then, before she could say a word, he was gone.

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"Dr. T'Soni?"

Liara looked up from her terminal. Her new assistant's face was a paler blue-violet than usual. After Nxyeris' betrayal, Liara had selected her next assistant much more carefully, passing up several perfect candidates because, well, they were _too _perfect. Reema was a former corporate secretary, not ideal, but definitely not a plant, either.

"Reema, you look as though you've seen a ghost," she said. She gestured to the seat in front of her desk; the young asari's legs looked ready to give out at any moment. "What is it."

Wordless, Reema handed her a datapad. "Someone left this on my desk when I stepped out for coffee."

"Security cameras?" Liara asked, more out of protocol than expectation.

The younger woman shook her head. The white tattooing along her forehead crinkled as she frowned. "No ma'am, I already checked. It looks like someone put it on a five-minute loop, then left."

"Mmm," Liara had yet to glance at the datapad. "Well, I suppose that's to be expected." Her assistant's coffee runs were like clockwork, convenient for anyone who wanted to stop by Reema's desk while she was away. She glanced down, brushing a few keys on the datapad.

She nearly dropped it as a holo sprang to life, a hanar suspended a few centimeters above the datapad, tentacles drifting.

"_Dr. Liara T'Soni."_ The hanar were nothing if not polite. _"This one regrets the need for secrecy. It represents a person who, for reasons known to both parties, felt it unwise for this one to deliver its message in person." _The space jelly wriggled apologetically. _"This one is sure of the esteemed doctor's tolerance in this matter."_

Liara pressed her lips together and steepled her fingers. Several of her clientele preferred to work through intermediaries, but few of _them_ balked at meeting with her. She did not know this hanar, putting it on a very short list with her rival brokers.

And right at the top of that list . . . _"Please allow this one to broach its business here. This one's client, known to some as the Shadow Broker, understands that the respected doctor has been looking into the disappearance of the drell Feron."_ The hanar pulsed, pinkish-orange, but Liara did not know how to interpret emotions in the species' bioluminescent language. Its voice was smoothly courteous as it continued. _"This one's client wishes to extend an offer. The drell will be returned to you, as will information pertaining to the whereabouts of the salarian Tazzik. What the honored doctor does with this information is her prerogative."_

Liara stared at the hanar, waiting for the offer to show its teeth. Dimly, she could hear the roar of her pulse, but outwardly, she remained calm, unmoved.

"_In return for this information, this one's client asks only for Dr. T'Soni's forbearance."_

"Forbearance in what?" Liara murmured, disturbed. Her eyebrows knotted. Nervous energy prickled her skin. The Shadow Broker was offering to hand her what should have taken years of patient, ruthless digging, the key to the door that guarded her obsession.

"_Dr. T'Soni, this one's client is assured that you that you will recognize the situation that requires your benevolent disinterest. This one laments that it may not offer you further information at this time, but hopes that the esteemed doctor will be assured of this one's good intentions with the inclusion of this recording. Its credentials have also been included, that the honored doctor may assure herself of its validity."_

The hanar wriggled as lines of static sliced through it. By now her heart was thudding against her chest.

Feron's yellow-green face shuddered into existence. His large, dark eyes looked up at her with a hint of resigned amusement.

"_Liara. I hear the Shadow Broker's made you quite the offer."_

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The armory was quiet, the few crewmates in it attempting single-minded repair of their guns. Miranda stared at her pistol, turning it over restlessly in her hands. Tali had forgotten to switch the safety on as she muttered and fiddled over her – thankfully unloaded – shotgun.

Jacob was the first to give in. With a sigh, he reached over to Tali's gun and tapped the safety. The quarian jumped, blushing furiously at her amateur mistake. "So," the former Alliance soldier asked the silent room. "Think Shepard will let Garrus kill his traitor?" Normally, Jacob wasn't big on gossip, but when there was a big, fringed, scaly elephant in the room, _someone_ had to address it.

Tali looked almost relieved. "Keelah, I'll be glad when this business is over. If looks were bullets we'd all be Swiss cheese by now."

Jacob refrained from asking her how she knew about dextro-based dairy products.

Miranda groaned, face in her hands. Her voice was muffled. "I don't _care,_ I just want to know why everyone's personal problems chose _this_ particular operation to interfere with. I don't think we've ever had a mission that took this many side trips."

Tali fiddled with her omni-tool. Her voice was worried. "I hope she can talk him around, I really do. I can't stand seeing him so upset. Garrus was always so level-headed. "

"_Until you shoved a big old frickin' cause in his face."_ Joker commented over the intercom. _"Then, watch the fur fly! Umm, scales. Plates. Whatever."_

Miranda scowled at the ceiling. "Jeff, have I ever mentioned how little your eavesdropping is appreciated?"

"_I'm not the one who had cameras rigged all over the ship," _the pilot shot back. Then his voice softened. _"I'm sure Shepard'll come through, Tali. She's the best we've got."_

Mordin bobbed his head from where he was inspecting the Collector rifle. "Officer Vakarian killer, not murderer. Shepard appreciates distinction. Will bring him back in psychologically sound state. May or may not require a punch to the face."

Joker snickered.

* * *

I know, I'm a horrible person for putting in Garrus angst. But he just does it so well. Thank you for the reviews, you guys are great!


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

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Shepard paused for a moment outside the turian's door. It was unlocked, but that meant little. Angry as he was with her, she was still his commanding officer, and he wasn't childish enough to barricade himself in the main battery.

It didn't mean she was looking forward to the discussion they were about to have. Her hands felt cold. She exhaled slowly.

The door slid open as she triggered its motion sensors. "Garrus?" she said quietly, politely remaining outside. Her fingers clasped together behind her back. The turian's back was to her, undoubtedly he was venting his frustrations on some ungodly complex firing algorithm. The line of plates that descended from the base of his fringe looked raised – something she had never seen before. Shepard blinked. _That's different-_

He jerked his head in invitation and she stepped inside. The air was markedly warmer in the main battery, blinking, she could swear a bloody sunset was beating down on her as red danced over her eyelids. "Have a minute to talk?"

His shoulders dropped briefly, he bowed his head and stared at the mosaic of numbers and symbols he was manipulating. Shepard could see the restraint as he looked fixedly at the terminal for a long moment. Two days ago he might have turned to her instantly, as though he were a planet whose dayside was gravitationally locked to her. She braced a hip against the railing, arms crossed over her chest. Little knots of tension bunched and twisted in between her shoulder blades. His mandibles clenched tightly to his face and his eyes burned. He looked at her sidelong, the dim lighting doing little to conceal his scars. His eye fixed on her, hawk-like, the only smoothness in the bullet-riddled plates on the right side of his face.

"Commander?" His voice was clipped. He knew what was coming.

She sighed. He wasn't going to make this easy on her. "I know you're pissed at me, Garrus. I don't blame you."

"Good to know I'm in the clear," he retorted. Shepard bit her tongue as irritation shot through her. Copper bloomed in her mouth as she glared at him. The flange in a turian voice had a nasty way of compounding sarcasm.

"Dammit, Vakarian, I don't like being on the outs with you, but I had damn good reasons for what I did and I'd appreciate it if you'd do me the courtesy of sparing me the attitude and listening." The words flared like an hungry fire from smoldering rubble, and the anger warmed her nicely. The red dimness of the main battery disguised the hot flush on her cheeks. "I don't like telling this, but you need to hear it."

He was kind enough to forego another snarky retort, instead nodding once, rigidly, and eyeing her with something too hard and wary to be curiosity. Shepard sighed, her arms falling to her side. "You know I ran with gangs, before I joined the Alliance?" she asked him. The orange terminal beeped steadily, quietly, beside him, blipping like a heartbeat on a monitor.

"Tenth Street Reds." he said flatly.

She was surprised.

It must have shown on her face. "Finch confronted you outside Chora's Den a couple years ago, asking for a favor," he added. "Are you going to tell me sparing him is comparable?" he inquired coolly. His eyes were focused, raptor-like, beneath dully gleaming plates. He wasn't growling, perhaps because he felt he had the upper hand.

"No." She deliberately defused the tension in the room, taking a step back and raking a hand through her hair, pacing for a moment. "No, this was much earlier than that," she said quietly, half to herself. She leaned against the wall, looking up at him. "This was back when I was a teenager, still a Red." Her mouth twisted, and the miasma of the streets flooded her senses in bloody memory. Cheap liquor and rusted steel and- Shepard inhaled sharply, redirecting her focus to the present and cursing Cerberus for playing merry hell with her memory again.

"I don't really like to remember it. Scraping by every day, dodging the cops, other gangs, crime lords. If you weren't shooting at someone, they were shooting at you." Her voice changed a little, became more remote. She didn't like to think about her past. She liked discussing it even less.

Shepard studied the floor a moment. "The point is, Garrus, we were wild. We were practically rabid. We were eaten up with violence and hatred. We never considered why we killed someone, or whether we had a choice in the matter." Euphoric, demented laughter, echoes of nights long past, echoed in her ears.

She looked up and met his eyes. He had moved to mirror her pose, leaning against the closed door. "I killed my first man at fifteen. I hated him." Memory cut a line between her brows, and deepened the corners of her mouth. Tension and unhappiness brimmed in her like a cup left out in the rain. "He tormented me for years, and he deserved what he got. I was angry when I shot him, but it never bothered me until years later."

She shifted from one foot to the other, wrapping an arm around her waist, other hand resting against her collar. The fabric felt stiff under her fingers. "Because years later, I realized that I had become like him. I took his place, his power, and his gun, and when I killed him, I took some of him into myself."

The turian's mandibles flared slightly as she looked at him, as though he had a sense where she was going with this, and didn't like it one bit. She continued. It was hard to get the words out, but it was necessary.

Commander Shepard always did what was necessary.

"When I looked at myself and saw that, I knew I had to get out. I joined the Alliance the next day. Walked out on my old life and gave it all up." His arms were tightly crossed over his chest, and his expression was unreadable. The turian was absolutely silent.

She clenched her hand to keep from reaching out to him. She wasn't proud of this particular story, but she hadn't realized how excruciating it would feel to stand there and wait for his response. Shepard was used to the judgment of others, but it was always impersonal. She made sure of that.

She pressed her fingers against the headache beginning behind her closed eyes, and gave up the last words she had. "I couldn't watch the same thing happen to you. And it's so easy to slide, Garrus." It felt like a confession. Her hand slid down her face, and she caught the end of the assessing look he was giving her.

"How many people have you told this story to?"

His question caught her off-guard, and she answered truthfully. "Not one." Behind her temples, the ache beat a slow tempo. She crossed her arms tightly, defensively, across her body. "It isn't something I'm proud of." Her voice softened as the vent whirred to life, trailing cold fingers across her face. "I threw away my humanity with that shot."

He stepped closer, staring her down. Her skin prickled and the air seemed suddenly charged, electric. The cool analysis of moments ago had gone, replaced by something colder, angrier. For some reason, her last statement seemed to have incensed him more than anything else she had said. "I fail to see what you're trying to prove. Your argument is flawed, Shepard. Aliens don't have humanity to lose."

Confronting her, with the strange reverberations underlying his voice, the deep growl that reached out to echo through her own lungs, and the fierce blue eyes set beneath gray plates, he was indisputably alien. And dangerous. Anger sparked at the base of her skull, scintillating through her brain. She closed the distance between them, standing eye to eye with him, refusing to be intimidated. Usually, she admired his stubbornness; right now, it was just pissing her off.

She grabbed the collar of his armor, yanking him forward until they were practically nose to nose. The sharp edges of his armor dug painfully into her fingers from the pressure she was exerting. No doubt she'd have some nasty red lines fracturing her hands to remember this by tomorrow.

She didn't give a damn.

"You know perfectly well what I mean, Vakarian. The soul of my species. A moral code, not a personal one. We all have it, and without it, we're just animals." She glared up at him, deliberately challenging him, invading his space. He stiffened, eyes hard and stony; the sharp points of his teeth barely visible. The turian's hands curled into fists at his side. She continued ruthlessly. "Animals do what they want to do. We do what we need to do. Have I made myself clear?" she hissed icily. Pale eyes seared him like frostbite.

The silence between them stretched dangerously thin. His eyes gleamed hotly as he held her gaze and a visceral tension seized her when she felt his hand slide up her spine, coming to rest at the back of her head. His talons tightened briefly, sliding through her hair while her lungs spasmed inexplicably.

The moment snapped violently when she reached up, or he swooped down, she wasn't sure which, only that her hands were white-knuckled under his fringe, and that the length of her body was crushed unforgivingly against hard armor, and that the scent of gunsmoke and musk surrounded and permeated her. She had time for one sharp inhale.

His head twisted sideways and she opened her mouth to his, craving and reveling in the brush of his rough tongue against hers, the exotic, deadly sharpness of his teeth as she opened to him and he yielded to her in return. Swift, deft talons freed her hair. His skin was as soft as suede beneath her fingers, speckled with plates below his fringe as she ghosted her nails under his jawline. Desire ripped through her, almost painfully. The black fall of her hair tumbled to her hips and she could feel Garrus running his talons through it, fascinated, enticed, until his hands fell to her hips and he lifted her closer to him.

Her toes left the floor, so she wrapped her legs around him instead, tilting his head up for a better angle at her new height. Careful of his scars, Shepard ran her thumbs over his mandibles as her hands cupped his jaw tentatively. Garrus shifted to accommodate her, bracing her against him. He slowed his pace now, maneuvering carefully, reluctant to hurt her, but the low moan in the back of her throat was his undoing.

The turian growled and slammed her back to the wall as her fingers brushed the sensitive skin at the base of his skull, breaking away and shuddering. Shepard felt an almost primal thrill race through her as the pain in her back spiked and ebbed. She took advantage of his momentary vulnerability, lips dropping to his neck, drinking in his heat and his scent before he stopped her, pinning her to the wall. Her legs lost their grip and she slid down, desire turning her body to liquid. Strong hands pinioned her at the shoulders; Garrus bowed his head, breathing ragged. Strands of hair floated across her eyes, but she couldn't find it in herself to care. She gasped a little, catching her breath, before he lifted his eyes and stared at her, wordless, looking a little punch-drunk. Shock and desire and wariness warred in his eyes.

"What the _fuck,_" he managed, chest heaving, "just happened?" Despite his words, his hands tightened possessively on her shoulders.

Trapped, she smiled at him, almost playfully. "I think I got my point across."

He dropped his head to hers, his forehead coming to rest gently against hers, affection replacing his former uncertainty. His plates were deceptively abrasive, but he held himself carefully, conscious of her delicate human skin. She could feel his heart hammering in his chest where he pressed against her. The wall was cold against her back, so she leaned forward, into him.

He caught her hand as she traced the line of his face, turned to press it against his mouth. The purr in his voice slid through her veins like a drug as his eyes caught and held hers. "I don't know, Shepard, I think you could argue me around a while longer."

She smiled archly. "I'd be happy to listen to your counter-"

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The stars glittered over her through a shifting veil of blue, the Normandy's mass effect fields. The loft was dark, the pale light of the tank shimmering over the room. She lay back against the mattress, pleasantly sleepy, sated, and not particularly coherent.

Jacob had finally warmed to Thane, and wanted to see how the drell fared against Alliance hand-to-hand combat. Shepard smiled, pleased that her efforts to make them work together had paid off, and not just because it would strengthen the team.

Most of the crew were in the cargo area now, hanging around a makeshift ring and egging them on. Which meant that that no one, with the possible exception of EDI, knew that she and Garrus were in the captain's quarters, and had been for quite some time.

Lazily, she looked over at the turian, to find him studying her with eyes she didn't quite know how to read. If she had to guess, she'd say he was nervous. He leaned back against the headboard with a kind of feigned relaxation, pale in the starlight. The light played curiously over the ridges of plate and skin on his chest. In the slight chill of the loft, the turian practically steamed.

She propped herself up on an elbow. "Something on your mind, Garrus?" she prompted. The sheets pulled with her, a whisper of Egyptian cotton over her body.

He traced the back of her hand where it lay next to his. In this light, his skin almost looked as smooth as hers. "Just thinking. About how this happened. Where it's going." He stumbled as he caught her raised eyebrow. "I don't regret any of it, but you know me, Shepard." His eyes lifted from their entwined fingers to her eyes. "I've never liked uncertainty."

She smiled. "We did kind of jump the gun, didn't we?" She stretched, and noted the way his eyes followed the line of her torso. She smiled wryly. "Are you surprised, though, Garrus? Really?" She inched across the bed, settling into the welcoming arc of his body. Idly, she ran her fingers over the leathery skin between his plates.

He slid down beside her, the tension leaving his muscles. His arm slid around her, a reassuring weight. "No." He shifted to accommodate her as she moved closer, laying her head against his neck. If the feeling of his cowl at the back of her head bothered her, she didn't show it. Her skin always felt cool to him, it was something that bothered him on occasion – she was so slight, and cold was hell on the human immune system. His arm tightened around the curve of her waist and brought her nearer. She slid her leg up to twine intimately through his with a sigh of content. Reluctant peace stole through him like a thief in an empty house.

She molded herself to him, enjoying the sensation as his heat warmed her cold body. Her lips curved in a lazy half-smile as he ran his talons through her hair. He couldn't help it, it fascinated him. Unbound, it flowed blue-black and gleaming over the curve of her back, reaching almost to her waist. He loved the feel of it, between his talons, on his skin . . . "Whatever, the reason, I'm glad it happened. And I'll be here for as long as you want me." His eyes held hers steadily.

She pulled away, trailed gentle, careful fingers over his scarred cheekbone, gaze soft. "You'd better get comfortable then, Garrus." He saw her smile through the half-shadows of the room. "I'm not settling for a one-night stand."

His voice was a soft growl against her cheek as he pressed his nose to her skin. "Good. Because I'm not either, Shepard. Not with you."

"Garrus?" She turned his face to hers; the unguarded happiness she saw there spreading tendrils of warmth through her. "It's just you and me up here." She rolled onto her back suddenly, taking the surprised turian with her. "So call me-"

He smiled and his mouth covered hers before she could finish. She had time for one delighted laugh before he pressed her back into the sheets and directed her attention elsewhere.

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Miranda smiled as EDI pinged her omni-tool, and sashayed over to the clutch of women enjoying Jacob's current state of shirtlessness. As a personal favor to Shepard, she had cleared the captain's quarters of any bugging devices, but she wasn't above using EDI to track her bet.

She cocked a perfectly arched eyebrow and smiled sweetly at the trio as they reluctantly looked away from the sparring men. "Pay up, ladies."

Jacob frowned as he caught sight of them out of the corner of his eye. "What the heck is going on over there? Miranda looks like the Cheshire cat."

Thane shrugged. "A small wager on Shepard's relationship with Officer Vakarian."

Jacob did a double-take and gaped at the women. "Say wha-"

Thane's meticulous tap to the jaw knocked him out cold.

* * *

Well, gosh, I'm not sure if you guys liked this chapter or not. I guess you'll just have to let me know. You know, for future reference. ;)


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

She watched the rise and fall of his chest in the unchanging darkness of space. Without his visor, he looked younger, more vulnerable. Reluctant to disturb him, she grazed his tattoos with the gentlest of touches. He was warm beneath her fingers. Before he met with Tarak's gunship, he had been undeniably handsome by turian standards. Now he was striking. It wasn't even the scars, not really; it was the self-contained command that he carried with him, the cool confidence and fierce passion. Two years had refined him, like a blade in a crucible, even as he almost broke under the weight.

He shifted slightly, his face turning into her touch as he slept. Her throat closed, bittersweetness clinging to her like morning mist. His face was calm in sleep.

Something was stirring in her that had been absent since the destruction of the Normandy. Since the klaxons wailing and Miranda's frantic voice had woken her in a once-sterile lab.

Something was right again in her life. She smiled faintly, realizing how tenuous it all was. Weren't his scars – and her own – testament to that?

She had never told anyone how close it had really been, when pieces of Sovereign had begun raining down on the Council Chamber, like the hand of a dying god. She remembered a deadly hail of glass shards that sliced her face and armor, and the shadow of the behemoth's leg blotting out the light. She had fallen to the floor with the impact as it broke into the chamber, and when she opened her eyes, she was staring at a steely gray expanse that went on forever, just inches from her eyes while she lay on her back and couldn't summon a single thought.

Somehow, Garrus and Tali were alive too. Somehow they had all survived. Commander Shepard was not a religious woman, but that day she sent up thanks.

And now, they were rushing into deeper danger, dancing blindfolded along a precipice, miles or feet or inches away from a final, fatal plunge to the rocks below. The Normandy SR-2 carried more than crew, she carried the crushing knowledge that there might be no return from where they were going.

"We're going to make it, Garrus," she told the sleeping turian softly. "I won't let us die."

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"Everything is ready?"

"Everything. We're just waiting for them to arrive."

"Good." The Broker's agent watched the curling, amorphous haze of cigarette smoke over the bar. Shady patrons kept their eyes on their drinks and their hands on their guns. People knew to leave well enough alone her. The agent smiled thinly. Shielded from view, the man in the holo never wavered in his attention. "I want no slip-ups. No trail. Nothing for them to follow."

Halfway across the galaxy, his companion smiled. "Don't insult me."

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"Right." Shepard surveyed her XO across the woman's desk. "I understand the Normandy needs to sit in port while we work on the new shielding."

"That's correct, Commander." Miranda's voice was crisp and efficient as ever. Her smile compensated for her tone, however. "I know you don't like twiddling your thumbs at the spaceport, but we can't perform upgrades in space. Might I suggest some shore leave for yourself and . . . your crew?"

Shepard nodded, the agent's hesitation apparently passing her by. "Sounds like a good idea. I'm sure some of them have cash just burning a hole in their pocket." She blinked as Miranda flushed bright pink. "Miranda?"

Her XO coughed and smiled apologetically. "Sorry, Commander. I seem to have picked up a bug. I'll drop by Mordin's lab, and pass on your orders."

"Good idea," Shepard said vaguely. "Make sure they spend those new-earned creds on something nice." She smirked at Miranda's back as the other woman walked quickly – very quickly – out the door.

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She woke with the taste of blood in her mouth. She wasn't sure if it was hers or not, she remembered a brief struggle when she regained consciousness – far sooner than they had anticipated, judging by the creative stream of swears that greeted her – before she felt the prick of a needle at her neck and fell into darkness again.

She shifted on the floor. The uncompromising metal was cold against her cheek, her wrists were bound behind her back, her feet at the ankles. The room she was in felt like the brig of a ship – though she could see nothing, she felt the movement of the ship and the faint hum of the engine. The room smelled of filtered air and liquor, laced with old blood and the burned-metal scent of expired heat clips. Somewhere above her, bulkheads creaked.

Commander Shepard could not remember how she got here.

_I don't understand. We just stopped by the Citadel for repairs. How could I have been so careless? –_

Memory surged, the crew of the Normandy laughing and jostling as they dispersed throughout the wards, civilian clothing, her orders. Better not to advertise themselves as Cerberus here on the Citadel. Al-Jilani would have had a field day with that bit of gossip, let alone what Joram Talid would have made out of a Council Spectre working with a pro-human terrorist group. Shepard wasn't inclined to give her tabloid fodder or the politician ammunition.

Kelly looked back to where Shepard stood talking with Garrus with a wry smile and – she was almost certain – a wink, before turning back to Gabby and Ken.

Shepard herself had been persuaded by Miranda to join in a girl's night out at the Dark Star. Tweaking Miranda about the not-so-secret bet seemed to have made her determined to make it up to the commander in drinks. The Normandy's resident shrink in particular insisted that Shepard needed to loosen up for a bit – and what did she mean she'd never tried the Dark Star's Astra Screwdriver?

_And then Garrus left with Thane to check out that gun auction. _My god_ – _If she was here, wherever here was – where the hell was her crew? Her heart pounded as she squirmed upright, testing her restraints – _shit, shit, shit – _and she gasped as a wave of pain coursed through her like adrenaline. Her body spasmed, she bit back a scream. Agony spiked through her brain, clawing down her spine and along her ribs before tightening like a vise around her lungs.

_What was in that needle? _

The pain gnawed its way through her veins, her muscles twitching involuntarily. The tendons in her hands strained white as she clenched her bound fists. It felt like someone had fed glass into her circulatory system. She could feel each and every beat of her heart, outlined in sharp, piercing throbs.

Shepard choked as the pain suddenly released her. Rationally, she knew that only a few heartbeats had passed, but she felt drained and empty in the absence of pain. Her eyes stung and her lip throbbed and bled where she'd bitten through it in an effort not to scream. Her ragged breathing was loud in the confines of the brig. Her body crumpled limp on the floor. She was almost grateful for its numbing chill.

_What the hell did they put in me?_ More importantly, who were they?

Metal screeched behind her and she couldn't even summon the energy to tense. Dim light shafted through the room, and she could barely discern a turian shadow through the haze of pain, wavering on the wall.

"Ga-" Her voice was less than a whisper.

She couldn't finish the word. Could hardly speak at all. Helpless anger simmered under her skin, she forced it aside with cold single-mindedness. She couldn't afford blind rage.

"Commander Shepard." The voice was unfamiliar, the tone unbothered, the flange unmistakable. "No doubt you're quite puzzled. Allow me to explain your circumstances." The turian padded into view, seating himself on the bench on the opposite wall. She burned him into her memory from where she lay on the floor, anger smoldering under the cool analysis she forced herself into.

His coloring was a deep brown, his face bare. He was armored – aside from Garrus, she had never seen an unarmored turian – in deep gray, almost black. If he was a merc, she had no clue what group he was from – perhaps he was a freelancer, more likely, he was privately employed. Shepard mentally ran down the list of people who could want her – alive – and the shorter list of those who actually had the resources to do it.

She almost regretted pissing off the galaxy's biggest and meanest.

Almost.

Like Saren, his cheekbones extended back like a fringe, a characteristic no other turian she had met possessed. "What you are currently feeling is a rather innovative drug recently developed by one of our specialists in the Terminus systems. Rather than sedate for your trip, we've been forced to debilitate you instead." His voice was a crisp, pleasant baritone, at odds with the assault rifle on his back. He paused, then continued conversationally, "did you know you have enough ice in your system to cripple a krogan?"

_Did you know you're on enough tranqs to drop an elcor?_ She would have laughed, but it hurt too much.

He saw the shudder pass through her body with benign and clinical interest, mistaking its cause. "As you already seem to have learned, ice will react to your activity level. Heart rate goes up, pain. Breathing heavy? Pain. Essentially, I have your neuromuscular system on a leash." He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. His talons wove together loosely as he looked down on her. "And you truly do not wish to find out what it will do to you if you try to use biotics, my dear commander."

She found her tongue as the turian smiled rather nastily at her. "What have you done to my crew?"

One of his brow ridges rose a little. "Nothing. My orders were for you and you alone. Taking care of your crew would have left a mess . . . and a trail." The faint light gleamed on his teeth, his deep gold eyes. "I am not a clumsy man, commander."

"Just a stupid one, then?"

He laughed as if she had delivered a perfect punch line. "Shepard – I may call you Shepard?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Let me say quite candidly that I admire your nerve. However, your insults mean absolutely nothing here."

Her wits were returning to her. "They mean more than your life will when the Normandy catches up to you." She smiled, mockingly polite. "But things don't have to degenerate to that level. I can be reasonable – as some of my crew won't be. By the time the Illusive Man and my people are through with you and your boss, your health and dignity will be a fond memory. I'm offering you a chance to walk away from this while you still can."

"Whatever gives you the idea that they can find us?" the turian asked. His eyes bored into her, and the disparaging smile was back. "I told you, Shepard, I am quite thorough."

"Who are you and what the fuck do you want, bareface?" she spat out, her temper getting the better of her.

He leaned back against the wall. His voice never strayed from pleasantry. She might have just paid him a compliment. "Please call me Chek, Shepard. I've noticed you don't stand on formality with my species."

He chuckled at her expression. "Come now," he said chidingly. "I've been keeping tabs on you for a while. Any turian with eyes in his head can see how Vakarian looks at you. It's quite interesting to watch; one would think you were already bonded."

"And I suppose you kidnapped and drugged me just so you could give me a strict lecture on the iniquities of interspecies relationships," Shepard said with dripping sarcasm.

Chek shook his head, mandibles quivering. "You mistake me, Shepard. I'm somewhat more progressive than most of my species. And the Shadow Broker is hardly interested in your fraternizing." His eyes locked with hers, metallic and golden. Straightforward. "Just your body."

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The silence thudded in her ears. Once. Twice. Then, "The Shadow Broker?"

"Surprised, Shepard?" The turian stood. "Don't be. The Broker doesn't like to be thwarted."

"So Liara T'Soni told me." Shepard retorted. Out of her armor, the chill of the floor had bled through her clothes, and her restraints chafed at her wrists. She flexed her fingers behind her back, wondering if she dared disregard his warning and slam him with biotics.

Chek did not react. She was coming to realize that nothing she said would rile him. Shepard forced herself not to flinch as he approached her.

"Please refrain from struggling, Shepard." He picked her up, seating her on the bench opposite his and propping her back against the wall. "Communication becomes difficult when ice is triggered." His head twisted, snake-like, to the side when she attempted to headbutt him. Her efforts were rewarded with a mild tingling, like the heat of the sun before it begins to burn.

His hand shot out, pinning her to the wall by her neck. The back of her skull cracked against the hard metal and stars exploded in and out of her vision. His talons tightened and she bit the inside of her cheek. "That's quite enough of that." His nails dug in, and she felt the skin break. He braced a leg against her knees, preventing her from kicking at him. Her shoulders burned as her arms were pressed back into the wall, forced into awkward angles by her restraints. His eyes were quite calm, voice even. "I am endeavoring to be civil here." The turian's hand crushed her windpipe, talons digging sharply into the muscle and tendon of her neck. A black haze pounded across her eyes.

Panic fluttered at the edge of her brain. She hadn't been choked like this since – she fought to keep that thought at bay. Cheap liquor and rusted steel and –

– _sobs in the dark –_

Suddenly, he let go. She inhaled deeply, sharply, clenching her teeth as her vision cleared. Her lungs burned as she sucked in air. She fell forward, head hanging and glared her hatred through half-lidded eyes. Her neck ached where he had gripped it.

The turian was staring at his claws, beaded red with her blood. The sticky dampness caught at the loose strands of her hair, pasting them to her neck. "One forgets how delicate you humans are," the turian murmured, almost to himself.

Then he looked back at her. "Please accept my sincerest apologies, Shepard. I had no intention of drawing blood."

_That's comforting._ "I accept your apology in the spirit it was given," she replied, eyes venomous. Her throat was a dull line of agony, and she knew she bruises were already blossoming there. Memories of Tenth Street brooded just beneath the surface of her thoughts.

He took her words at face value. "Excellent. To return to your jibe about Dr. T'Soni, measures have been taken to encourage the doctor's disinterest. Don't hope for help from that quarter."

She had only one last question. "Why am I still alive?"

Chek smiled at her. "Because the Collectors requested it."

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"Tell me I misheard you."

Miranda winced and Jacob slammed a fist into the polished wood of the table, too angry for words. The turian was seething, eyes burning as he looked at her. The air around him crackled with tension.

"_I can find no trace of her," _EDI informed them, simulated worry overlaying her voice. "_I lost contact with her at 0016 in the Zakera ward. Tali'Zorah and I have been piecing together security footage_." The AI paused, then continued with obvious regret. "_So far we have been unsuccessful."_

"How the fuck did you lose her? We were on the fucking Citadel for chrissakes!" Jack burst out. Miranda couldn't decide whether she looked like a feral alley cat or a lost child. The weight of her own failure pressed down on her.

The Normandy's XO bit back a nasty retort and leveled an icy look at stunned convict instead. "She was with Kelly, Tali and I at the Dark Star until she stepped outside for some fresh air. She told us she would be right back."

Thane spoke for the first time, his voice quiet and level. "This was not a casual abduction. To have lured and subdued the commander and left no trace behind – that requires careful planning and certain resources."

Jacob turned toward the assassin. "You have some thoughts on this?"

"Jacob, this isn't the first time Shepard's been taken," Miranda said quietly. "I don't like to jump to conclusions . . . but it seems like too much of a coincidence."

Her lieutenant blinked. "Miranda, not even the Shadow Broker is that – "

Garrus interrupted them, his words falling into the sudden silence with icy precision. "Guessing gets us nowhere. We need hard evidence, or an information broker."

"Someone who already has experience with the Shadow Broker," Tali added from the doorway. She held up the datapad in her hand. "EDI and I salvaged what we could." The quarian went to stand next to the table. "EDI, would you bring up what we found?"

Unconsciously, Shepard's dirty dozen leaned in as black-and-white footage filled the display. A low-quality video from an awkward angle fizzled in and out of view, the mouth of an alley. A human and a turian crowded a young girl into the passage as she cast frantic glances over her shoulder, heels scuffing against the floor.

"Why doesn't she scream for help?" Jacob asked.

Grunt took a different view. "Why doesn't she put up a fight?"

"An excellent question," Thane murmured. "I think in a few moments-" he stopped as an unmistakable figure rushed into the alley, clad in near-white biotics. The commander disappeared into the alley. Silence gripped the crew as they stared at the mouth of the alleyway, waiting. Jack popped her knuckles distractedly, one by one. Tali shifted from foot to foot.

Long minutes passed before the girl and her companions emerged with a woman in clothes slightly worse for a night out, the hood of her light jacket pulled over her head. The turian half-supported, half-dragged her as her head hung down. His companion swayed beside him as though tipsy, the young girl clinging to him and laughing uproariously. They looked nothing so much like a group of friends stumbling home after hitting the bars all night.

"Anything from other cameras on the Citadel?" Garrus asked tightly. The turian had forced himself to a semblance of calm, coiling his anger and fear within himself like a spring. Only Thane, who stood next to him, saw the quiver of his clenched fists and felt the silent rumble deep in his lungs.

"No," Tali replied, apologetic. "Someone wiped them. We were lucky to even get this."

"_Miranda?"_ Joker's voice came in over the intercom_. "I've gotten in touch with Liara. She wants us to rendezvous at Illium, pronto. Says we can't chance relaying anything – even on Cerberus channels."_

"They're long gone from the Citadel anyway. Step on it, Jeff." Shepard's XO replied. Her eyes were grim and icy. "I don't think we have much time."

* * *

A/N: A little late, I know. Please review and let me know what you thought!


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Time had slowed to a crawl.

Commander Shepard had never gone this deep into meditation before. Breath and heartbeat moved in tandem, slow and steady. The darkness she'd been left in was absent of even a ray of light. Alone in the absolute blackness of the belly of the ship, Shepard fell deep into herself. Air whispered into her lungs, her blood pounded and sighed through her veins like a night tide.

Chek had told her the drug that circulated in her bloodstream would react to her heartbeat, her adrenaline, her biotics. The last, she would test as a final resort, but even without them, under Samara's remembered tutelage, Shepard could maim and kill with inhuman serenity.

The cuffs around her hands lay on the floor somewhere behind her. It had taken some painful readjustment to her thumbs, a trick she hadn't had to use since her days as a delinquent on Earth. The cuffs around her ankles had been more difficult to deal with, but eventually, they too lay empty on the floor. Commander Shepard sat straight-backed on the floor, her palms resting gently on her knees, motionless. Her being shifted to the slow, steady passage of an inhale, the calm release of the exhale, the inflexible column of her spine – her axis mundi.

The hiss of the door at her back slid into her awareness and she opened her eyes languidly. Her seated shadow wavered dimly on the wall in front of her, three indistinct shadows hovering above it.

"What the fuck-" a man's voice rasped. Shepard could only assume he'd seen the empty handcuffs.

"Quiet." A batarian's deep voice echoed from behind her. "She's been dosed. It doesn't matter."

"She slipped her damn cuffs, don't tell me it doesn't matter." The right-hand shadow made as though to turn. "Screw this. I'm getting Chek."

Impassively, she saw the middle shadow reach out and grasp his partner's shoulder. Shepard let her exhale slide calmly from her lungs, watching. "Schroder, she's unarmed and iced to the eyeballs. What do you think she's going to do, make hurtful comments about your mother?"

The shadows twisted, broke, parted with heavy footsteps. Two batarians circled around to the wall in front of her, leaning against it, arms crossed over their chests , holding in their nervous excitement and a whisper of fear. They eyed her with the flat loathing common to their kind when regarding humans. The human remained at her back, his shadow thinning occasionally as he glanced over his shoulder. She could hear his short, shallow breathing; the sharp, sour smell of his sweat cut the stale air. He shifted his weight constantly.

Her instincts told her he was not the threat here.

"The turian didn't tell us what a _celebrity_ we had in our brig, Shepard." All four eyes fixed on her as the alien fingered the knife at his belt, a serrated, nasty piece of work. The ropes of flesh bordering his mouth twisted, he bared needle-like teeth. His flesh gleamed wetly in the low lighting.

She had always found batarians grotesque.

His head tilted to the right, ever so slightly. He sneered.

Shepard didn't blink. Gray eyes still as ice met his levelly.

"Do you know how many batarians died at your hands on Elysium?" He began to slide the knife from its sheath. The metal gleamed with care, its many nicks and notches notwithstanding. "Camalan steel is too good for you, but I work with what I have." He looked at the man in the doorway. "Schroder, slap those cuffs back on her. I don't want her flailing."

"Tolor –" the human's voice was high and strained behind her. "I don't think this is a good idea. Chek will kill us if –"

"He won't miss a few fingers. An eye. She has two, anyway." He loomed over her as her breathing marked the time. "And then there are _such_ interesting things your ancestors used to do with fingernails. The techniques we learned from the Verge- "

"Tolor – he'll kill us if we – "

The batarian snorted. "Then scamper away, Schroder." The man's shadow tore from the wall as he beat a hasty retreat. Tolor returned his attention to Shepard, the light harsh on his muddy skin. "The cowardice of your species never ceases to amaze me, human."

Shepard smiled thinly and spoke for the first time. "This, from the man whose brothers cowered underground like rodents on Torfan?" Her body tingled with awareness, as it always did before a fight. She drew in a deliberate breath, released it slowly. The meditative trance cradled her in cool serenity, stilling her heart and breath, armoring her against the drug in her veins.

"Little bitch-" The knife flashed and stilled as the batarian's companion grabbed his arm. "Tolor – Schroder was right, something's off about her, and if Chek finds us down here - "

Shepard surged to her feet, seizing the distracted batarian's wrist and snapping it back against itself. Her blood sang at the wet pop of ligaments, and the wet crackling of the small bones in his wrist. His elbow hit the wall, hard, and she steadied the knife before he could drop it.

The alien shrieked with surprise and pain, before his cry turned to a bubbling gurgle as she tore the knife from his limp hand and slashed his throat. _Camalan steel._ Blood spurted from the arteries in his throat, spraying her from hairline to abdomen, red flowers blooming on her clothing. The fabric stuck damply to her chest, and she tightened her blood-slick grip on the knife before turning on the other batarian.

He threw his hands up, attempting to stiff-arm her. Shepard felt her lip curl contemptuously beyond the serenity of the meditation. His elbow cracked as she smashed it inward with her free hand, his arm buckling with a wet snap. She drove her knife through his chest as his fist swung into the side of her head. The ridged metal on his knuckles connected with her cheekbone, the edges opening bloody lines on her face.

She hardly felt it.

Her knife caught on a rib and twisted before she withdrew it to let him slide down the wall, eyes dimming. Disdain filled a remote corner of her mind. This was why she had always used knives with a clean edge.

_Clean edge, clean kill._ She smiled and wondered what had become of the knife that Picks had once used on her.

The batarians lay limp on the floor, bodies already cooling. A quiver of satisfaction shivered through her. Her breathing was slow and steady, her pulse unhurried as a sleeping child's. Later, she would want to throw this in the Shadow Broker's face and laugh, but her impassive armor allowed her only a rueful smile for the two batarians at her feet.

Shepard wiped her relatively unbloodied sleeve across her face, cleaning the worst of the mess, but leaving a bloody smear in her wake. The cuts on her cheekbone began to bead again after she blotted them. Kneeling, she checked the dead batarians for weapons, finding an interesting array of knives, but no guns. Her cool mind was able to catalogue this with only a resigned sense of disappointment.

Straightening, Shepard walked out of the brig.

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"I'm devoting all resources to finding her." The cybernetic eyes studied her coldly. His face was tight, and his free hand gripped the arm of his chair as though he meant to strangle it. "She was your charge, Operative Lawson."

"I know that, sir." Miranda's voice was stiff with repressed emotion. Her hands were clasped tightly behind her back, and she forced herself to look him in the eye. The only thing worse than his fury was her fear for her commander.

He drove the end of his cigarette into the ashtray, twisting it violently.

Dim orange embers sparked before they were smothered. A thin plume of gray smoke flew up from the ashes. The Cerberus agent stood stock-still, surrounded by the palpable feeling of his anger, even separated by light-years of dust and space. The dry, sterile air was suddenly hard to breathe. "Where are you now?"

"We're en route to Illium." she replied shortly, bracing herself. Her shoulders were back, her posture almost military.

He blinked. It was a rare, human reaction from him, as was the curse that died half-formed on his lips. "You think Liara T'Soni will help us, Miranda?" he ground out after a moment. "After what happened last time?" The Illusive Man stood abrubtly. His fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles popped. "We know she's been in contact with the Shadow Broker – the very person we believe has Shepard!"

His eyes glowed in the darkness, his snarl etching deep lines into his face. His impeccably tailored suit pulled taut against tight shoulders. She had never seen him so agitated.

Then again, she had never failed a mission so spectacularly. Or jeopardized so much. "This is an extremely risky maneuver, Lawson, on top of the inexcusable mistake you've already committed."

Her jaw clenched. She knew she deserved the criticism, even if no one could have seen this coming. It was her _job_ to prepare for those things no one saw coming. She was the best science and money could produce, and it hadn't been enough.

And on top of failing her employer, she had also failed the commander. The resurrected science project who had become her friend. Her professional pride wasn't nearly as heavy as the feeling of failing _her_. Her lips thinned.

"Doctor T'Soni may not help us, but she _will_ come to Shepard's aid." She restrained her anger at the time this meeting was wasting, keeping her voice calm and restrained. "As to your suggestion that she could be a double agent for the Shadow Broker, believe me, there's no one less likely to turn us over to him. She'd like nothing better than to obliterate him on a molecular level. I can vouch for that personally, and Shepard's old squad agrees with me." She paused. "It's been two years, but they still know her best."

Her palms were damp, and she flexed her fingers, a nervous habit. His narrowed eyes were boring into her, and she met them unblinkingly. She sensed victory near.

The Illusive Man tore his eyes from her angrily, presenting her with a hawkish profile. A moment passed as his brows locked together, the lines of his face deepening.

At last – "If you must have her, I want her on the Normandy," the Illusive Man snapped. "I want her monitored. And not just by EDI. I want to come into my office and see her on our surveillance devices. At any given moment, I want to have her like a slide under a microscope. Are your instructions clear?"

"Yes, sir."

He approached her, stalking closer to her projection in his office. She wondered if there was whiskey on his breath. His eyes were glassy, but that could have been the cybernetics. "I told you before that everything may rest on Shepard. Find her. And Lawson?"

She waited with an imperfect veneer of patience.

"No fuck-ups this time."

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The ship was an old model, not meant to draw attention. From what she could tell, it had once been a merchant freighter. Ironically enough, Shepard imagined that she was the most valuable cargo it had ever carried.

Dim lights flickered as Shepard stalked through the shadows of the cargo area. A human who was not Schroder had already fallen to her knife, and been stuffed unceremoniously behind a stack of boxes. He had carried the light, miraculously silenced pistol that now rested comfortably in her hand. Better still, her cool concentration had yet to waver.

Chek appeared to have taken on a skeleton crew. With the two batarians and one human down, she estimated that she had two more to deal with after Schroder, in addition to the turian himself. She approved of his decision – a mission of this scope was better suited to a small, veteran squad. Fewer people to screw it up, fewer to gossip afterward.

It was a shame that not all of his veterans had been disciplined enough to carry it out.

A terminal flickered intermittently up ahead of her. Smoothly, Shepard slid behind a stack of boxes. Someone was beat-boxing to upbeat music she didn't recognize. The music itself had the buzzing quality of sound blasted through earphones. Too cowardly to spill the beans on his batarian comrades, here he was prepping his alibi for when the shit hit the fan. _I couldn't hear a thing, Chek. I never thought they'd pull a knife on her. You didn't expect me to babysit our girl in the brig, did you?_

The commander navigated the maze of towering crates silently, circling closer to the oblivious voice. Dust lined the stacks and narrow passages between. She breathed carefully; it would be utterly humiliating to be undone now by a sneeze.

His back was to her as he continued his one man show. His voice was high and nasal, and she recognized it immediately. He was even wearing headphones, an old-fashioned affectation. A collection of needles lay around him, and the sleeve pushed up past his elbow revealed fresh pinpricks. Like most turians, Chek probably tolerated his subordinate's drug habit . . . so long as it didn't interfere with his duties.

It was the easiest thing in the world for her to walk up behind him and silence him.

Precious minutes later, Shepard checked the knots she'd left on him, casting aside the tranquilizer she'd used for good measure. She didn't have time for a lengthy interrogation, not until everyone else on the ship was dead. But when she did, Schroder-the-coward was her pick. Until then, she dragged him into the dusty maze of crates and left him there drooling and unconscious, with a healthy egg-sized lump swelling on the back of his head.

She knelt over his body a moment after it was done, guessing at the layout of the ship, planning her next move. Her mind reflected over these questions as her body reflected over the deep calm she had wrapped it in.

"So why's Tolor got such a bug up his ass?" Light step, feminine voice. Asari, if she had to guess.

Shepard froze in the darkness.

"He's a batarian," her partner responded carelessly. "You know how touchy they get around Blitz veterans."

Two asari in commando leathers slinked into the circle of light created by Schroder's terminal. The music was still blaring from his headphones. Shepard tensed.

The taller woman snorted and turned it off. "What a bunch of crap." The bold white markings on her dark skin rippled as her nose crinkled. "I can't believe he's still listening to that."

Her companion winked one pale eye at her. "Well, you can tell him just how awful it is next time he starts be-"

Her left side jerked back as the pistol caught her in the shoulder. She fell to the floor, clutching her wound with one hand, and reaching for a gun with the other. Her voice was a low groan. "Oh, Goddess-"

Shepard's next shot took her through the arm and she dropped the gun with a shriek, biotics springing into life around her body.

Some people found it impossible to direct their biotics without the proper gestures. Shepard hoped the injured asari was one of them.

Her partner glowed in the semi-darkness. "Stay down! Comm Chek and tell him to get his ass down here. She's loose!"

Shepard dodged as the unharmed asari flung the stacked crates out of her way, taking her cover. Her third shot went wide, and she fervently wished she dared to use biotics. The dark-skinned woman stood at the center of a hurricane, flinging half-filled crates and boxes away from herself. The air was filled with packing material and wood chips and scrap metal. Shepard cursed under her breath.

Dark face tight, the asari began to pull a stack of crates toward her, an improvised weapon to fling at her enemy. It dawned on Shepard that the commando did not want to shoot her. Perhaps Chek had given them orders that he did not want her damaged or killed. Perhaps the asari was only trying to stun her foe, despite the shallow breathing of her partner on the floor and the tight worry on her face.

Either way, it was an advantage she intended to use. Shepard seized her chance, leaping after the crate, and bulling into it with the raw strength of her post-Lazarus body. The commander grunted at the impact, barely adjusting her shoulder in time to avoid a dislocated collarbone. She flung her arm out as she hurtled through the air and fired another shot into the stomach of the feebly stirring asari before crashing into her partner.

A muffled shriek came from below her as the crate and the commander hit the asari and knocked her to the floor. The crate flew apart beneath her.

"Shit!" Her fingers pinched between the trigger as her arm crumpled, and she hissed as a thread of pain wove its way through her induced calmness. Thankfully, it was physical, not chemically induced. Shepard inhaled deeply, striving to keep herself grounded even as one hand scrabbled at the half-empty syringes around her – Schroder's. She looked up and saw a tray on the desk beside her. It touched her memory vaguely – images of Schroder bending over her the first time she woke up, followed by a sharp sting - and it looked prepped.

The asari, winded, gasped reflexively for air with lungs that refused to work. Mind racing, Shepard made a fist and punched the woman in the solar plexus, hard. Her eyes rolled up, the white tattooes contorting. Cramped fingers barely wrapping around the gun, she held onto it grimly with one hand, lunged over, and grabbed the syringe with the other. The liquid inside was a milky white, concentrated, and barely viscous.

Praying it was what memory told her, she popped the cap and slammed it into the asari's chest. The liquid emptied slowly, and Shepard's hand began to shake as she held it down. She closed her eyes briefly and prayed she could hold onto Samara's teachings a while longer.

Finally, the syringe was empty. Shepard fell back onto her ass ungracefully, a sigh of relief on her lips. She flexed her fingers experimentally, shaking the abused hand out. The threads of calm began to weave around her once more. She looked around, but no one seemed to have heard –

The asari screamed.

Shepard scrambled backward as the woman flared, her body crackling with blue-white biotics. Shepard flung up a hand to protect her eyes – the asari commando shone like the sun, the fierce light eating into her retinas. The asari's back arched like a bow, and her limbs began to shake. Her eyes rolled back, the whites bloodied with broken veins. The muscles in her neck stood out like cords. Her fingers scrabbled at nothing, twitching spiders on the floor. The boxes around her quivered, skittering inward as though she were a magnet drawing everything in.

_Shit, shit, shit, shit._

Shepard flung the pistol up, aiming toward the center of light and chaos. A crate whipped past her and she shot blindly into the storm.

The light imploded, and in the sudden darkness, Shepard sagged back and closed her eyes. _She tried to use biotics._

_My God, that could have been me._

Relief surged through her, fear made her giddy. She stumbled to her feet, knees shaking and her shell of calm eroding at the edges. She gathered those edges in around herself like a child shutting out the dark, calming her breath once more, willing her heart to slow. She closed her eyes briefly.

"You never disappoint, Shepard."

Her eyes flew open and she inhaled sharply, twisting to her feet and swinging the gun up to shoulder level. Slowly, she rotated on the spot, peering into the debris-strewn semi-darkness.

"Over here, commander."

She whirled as the gun jumped from her hand.

A tall shape emerged from the darkness, the shadows melting away from his face. His amber eyes were flat and hard. The turian caught her pistol neatly and Shepard felt her mouth fall open.

A fucking turian biotic.

Somewhere, Murphy and his little law were laughing at her.

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He popped the heat sink of her gun calmly and her eyes followed it as it hissed to the floor like a wasted flare. He kept his golden eyes on hers.

"Surprised, commander? Biotics are rare among my race, but they do exist. " He nodded to the syringe where it stood erect, like the hilt of a knife, in the dead asari's chest. "And you are out of ice." He stepped toward her, letting the bullets fall out of the chamber, sliding like her life through his fingers and clinking to the floor. "Out of bullets." Debris crunched under his boots, and she fell back a step. An implacable smile danced over his features. "And out of options."

She turned and ran.

Blood began to hum through her veins as a veil of biotics slipped behind her, barely missing her. The first tingle of pain scintillated through her body – _the ice_ – and she fought for control. Metal and wood slid beneath her feet, and she stumbled more than once. Was he toying with her, or did she actually have a chance?

She thought she knew the answer.

Beyond the destruction the asari commando had wrought, the crates and boxes towered high, an industrial hedge maze. Shepard plunged into the dark corridors again, mind racing – with all the precision and coolness of a marathon runner_. _Somehow, she was still holding the justicar's teachings around herself, barely.

Then it hit her and she cursed her stupidity._ The gun. I can't sneak up on him, I can't fight him head on. I need to get back._ She paused at a crossroads in the stacks before ducking right. Her stomach turned as her mind raced. The dead asari had been armed, and she didn't think Chek had taken it off of her body.

Shepard flattened herself against a crate, straining to hear in the darkness. Below the sound of her own breathing, and the hum of the ship, there was silence until –

There. A soft scuff from her left. A beat, then one more. She eased around the side of her cover, listening hard. It was just possible that she could –

The box beside her head exploded in a shower of white, dazzling her eyes. Shepard hissed through her teeth and sprinted -

- right into hard turian armor.

He grabbed the punch she threw at him, twisting her arm. The empty pistol cracked her temple and she stumbled, fireflies exploding before her eyes. "I should have kept a closer eye on Tolor," he murmured. His flange echoed strangely in her ears. She grabbed for the pistol on his hip.

He jerked her arm up behind her back, twisting her around and crushed her to him, dropping the empty pistol and reaching for something at his waist. His armor was hot against her back, moving faintly with his breathing, and she felt a drop of sweat trickled down her spine. The scent of death and sweat, musk and blood, engulfed her.

"I'm curious as to how you took care of him – he doesn't cater to your kind." His voice was inquisitive, with no hint of the fury she sensed against Tolor and his nameless partner. His arm tightened around her like a vise; her ribs protested as she fought for breath. The ice began to exert itself, little teeth beginning to gnaw at her spine.

And then suddenly, it clicked.

Relief and apprehension crashed over her. He didn't know about the justicar's instruction, what she had shared with Shepard. She ignored his implied slur. As long as she had that advantage –

Pain tore through her shoulder and she choked as he held the syringe in her arm. She threw her head back to crack him in the chin; he grunted and she felt his body jerk against her back but the turian didn't move. His grip tightened, and her arm went numb.

Or did it? She felt the drug begin to slide through her veins. His biotics swarmed over her body like insects, immobilizing her, prickling her skin. She didn't dare use her own to fight back – not after the asari.

"A sedative?" she asked through numbed lips. The deck disappeared beneath her. Gravity jumped sideways, vertigo making her nauseous. The turian pinned her firmly against him as she lost all feeling in her legs and her knees buckled. "I thought –"

When she woke, it was in the brig. Cold metal ringed her wrists once more, and when she raised her head, there on the bench, almost on display, was a syringe, empty but for a milky residue.

Shepard let her head fall back to the floor.

* * *

A/N: Sorry this one took so long to get up, guys. The past few weeks have been kind of hectic. Regardless, looking forward to your feedback!


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Somewhere between the elevator and the cabin door, their movements had slowed, turned tentative and unsure. Garrus paused a moment, pressing his forehead to hers, before she reached behind her to unlock the door. Her eyes never left his as she led him over the threshold, taking slow and careful backward steps. She reached up, wordless, as the door whisked shut behind him, and he guided her hands over the clasps of his armor, letting it fall away like pride from a penitent.

Shepard brushed curious, gentle fingers over his skin, sending nervous jolts through his body. Her eyes were liquid in the light, her mouth solemn. He shivered and pulled her closer, burying his face in her unbound hair. The elusive scent of the Earth flower he remembered from the observation deck lingered in the air around her. The rippling light of the empty tank cascaded strangely over interlocked plates and skin. He could feel her heart racing in the silence.

She glanced up, her eyes a blue-lit gleam through dark eyelashes, before pressing her lips to his chest, imprinting a soft kiss on his bare skin. He caught her up in his arms as they reached the steps, carrying her the last few feet to the bed. Shepard moved to the pulse under his jaw, trailing fingers of fire through his veins.

She reached up as he laid her down, pulling him with her. He caught himself before falling on her, the sweet, inviting smile on her lips making his heart stutter. The sheets twisted and clenched under the hand he used to brace himself. Garrus held her eyes a long moment, talons on the zipper of her high-necked uniform. His lungs were suddenly airless.

"You don't have to ask for permission, Garrus." Shepard traced the left side of his face, freeing his visor and gently setting it on the nightstand before her hand returned to his cheek. Despite the trail of armor by the door, it was only now that he felt truly naked.

Her eyes were a clear light in the darkness. "I trust you."

The hint of a smile flitted over his face. Hard blue eyes softened in the semi-darkness. "I know." He pulled the zipper down past her navel in one long, smooth motion. Her head was thrown back, her eyes half-closed as she bared her throat to him. Her quiet sigh hung in the air above them as his mouth grazed her neck. He wasn't sure whether he was grateful or intimidated by her blind faith.

Pale skin gleamed under the starlight, baring a delicate vee of flesh, and he traced a careful line over her abdomen, between the valley of her breasts, her collarbone, before she lifted her chin for a kiss.

The turian bent down, feeling her hands glide over his waist, his chest, before slipping to his back and pulling him closer, separated only by heat and physics. Her soft inhale echoed in the silence of the loft, and he felt her nails pierce him before he broke away. He didn't care; he was with Shepard, and he would take the bitter with the sweet. Musk and perfume mingled like incense between them. He looked down the scant inches into her face.

Her eyes were feverishly bright, her lips parted and soft. _Reverence_. That was the only word he could use for the emotion that illuminated her face. He brushed a thumb over Shepard's cheekbone, and she leaned into the caress, a pink flush creeping over her skin. Her body shifted subtly under him, a silent request echoed in blue eyes.

Carefully, his hands swept the fabric from her shoulders, before she twisted underneath him, freeing her arms before guiding his hands to her hips. Soft cloth whispered over warm skin, parted, fell, forgotten.

At last she lay on the sheets, completely nude in the moonlight. Her supple body melded to his hard planes and their fingers locked above her head. Longing suffused her face and he was caught between the primal violence bred in the bone of his kind, and long-unspoken tenderness. He suddenly remembered the sight of her on Omega, when he removed his helmet, a streak of gunpowder on her cheek and radiant with joy. The moment in which she ceased to be a ghost.

Had it been then when he first let himself acknowledge it?

What an idiot he had been.

She felt almost delicate beneath him. Her face floated in the dark cloud of her hair; his eyes were intent in the shadowed darkness.

They paused on the brink, not for doubt, but for time. Time, which would swiftly and inevitably take this stolen hour from them. She laid her cheek against his, breathing deeply, immersing herself in a single moment. He memorized her shape in his arms.

He felt her heartbeat through his chest, her shallow breathing against his ribs, the soft meeting and parting of skin. He paused one last fragile time, fighting instinct and desire in the face of her vulnerability. Garrus hovered over her, eyes sober on her face. "Shepard, I don't want to hurt you." She freed a hand as he continued softly, urgently, "let me know if-"

Shepard laid her fingers over his mouth, stopping his words. Gently, she stroked his face. Her eyes burned steadily. "You won't."

He nodded almost imperceptibly, before her mouth met his and their bodies pressed close.

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He woke in darkness, reaching out unthinkingly.

She wasn't there. Garrus closed his eyes, falling back to the mattress as reality flooded his senses, followed closely by those ugly sisters, guilt, anger and fear. The battery was quiet but for the low hum of the ship. He slipped from the bed, dressed in silence, and left.

The third deck was nearly deserted, one straggler hunched over coffee at the mess table. In the kitchen area, Rupert was silent and methodical. He flicked a glance at Garrus beneath his eyelids, but said nothing. The turian left him alone, the elevator door sliding shut like a casket lid.

Crap, how he hated elevators.

He blinked in the bright light of the CIC. The galaxy map swirled serenely in space, untroubled. Long arms trailed and fluttered amid a pearly glow, moving with surety, order and grace.

It struck him as a truly inaccurate portrait.

Joker seemed to share his grim mood. There were no sardonic quips as Garrus slid into an empty seat in the cockpit. The coffee at his elbow was untouched, cold under the pre-dawn light. Miranda sipped from her own determinedly, black and bitter, not at all her usual. There were shadows under her eyes. She nodded as he sat down.

"We're almost into dock. Dr. T'Soni will be waiting for us."

He met her eyes briefly before turning back to the faint skyline. Color was beginning to bleed into the city, rose and violet and gold, sound to trickle through the morning, though aboard the Normandy there was only the hum of the engine. Cars moved like well-organized swarms of bees in the stirring city. Somewhere down below, arguments and worries and passions were breaking like dawn into the waking minds of Illium.

He closed his eyes and leaned back, waiting.

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She had not slept in – God, she didn't know. Time, as Jack had once told her, slipped away from you in a cell. At irregular intervals, someone would come disturb her. Sinking back into meditation was out of the question. Her eyes would be about to close, and a crash would echo through the closed door, or the remaining asari would douse her with ice-water, blind her with an overpowering light in her eyes. The rest of the time it was dark and cold and silent.

Small things, all, but done over and over, hour after hour, time out of mind, until they became unpleasant little monotonies . . . Her nerves were on hair-trigger, the ice a constant hum of low pain in her agitated state.

He was breaking her, she knew, or at least her concentration. He must have gotten something from Schroder – she's pleased she could at least reason that out. It was getting hard to think. At some point, Chek had come in and shackled her to the wall. It's uncomfortable. Her clothing was damp and cold from the asari's latest ministrations, her arms numb where they were restrained above her head. She was fairly certain that her shoulders were still in the proper sockets, but it was impossible to be sure.

This one might be up to her crew. Pray she can hold on until then. Her stomach clenched, and she wondered where in the vastness of the galaxy they were, Joker and Miranda and Tali and Chakwas. And Garrus. Garrus most of all.

Her eyelids began to fall again. Her vision blurred constantly and her head was swimming. The ventilation system coughed to life, a brush of icy air against her cheek. She clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering in the slight chill. The wall was cold against her back, hardly an improvement over her soaked uniform. A tremor went through her, and then another. Shepard wasn't sure whether it was hypothermia or hunger – she couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten either. Her lips were cold.

Was this why she had been brought back from the dead?

Her head began to drop.

The door hissed open and she flinched against the sudden light. It hurt her eyes, after so long. Shepard blinked at the dancing afterimages it left, before looking up at her visitor.

Impotent, tired anger filled her at the now-familiar feeling of a syringe sliding into her skin, the slightly unpleasant sensation of the drug percolating through her body.

"You could have just shot her."

Shepard looked up in surprise. The asari's face was tight, her eyes alive with hatred. Her armor covered the gunshot wounds, but the commando still moved stiffly.

"Your mate?"

White streaks contorted on a dark field. "No one deserves to die like that. It was inhumane."

"I didn't mean for it to happen." Shepard met the asari's eyes squarely, battling exhaustion and guilt. The image of the dead asari's last moments – contorted and screaming – reached for her. She shivered again. "I won't lie, I would have killed her . . . but not like that. I don't torture people."

"I don't want your excuses."

Lack of sleep was making her mind wander. "I don't want to die on an alien dissecting table." She laughed, a breath from hysteria. "Looks like we both get it anyways." Her head fell.

A hard hand yanked her back up by the hair. "Believe me, if it were up to me, you wouldn't have to worry about that. I'd kill you right here." She glanced at her hand, wrapped around the unraveling coil of Shepard's hair.

The commander froze at the bite of cold metal at her throat. "But I saw what happened to Tolor and Arak. Chek _might_ have my head if I killed you. He may even be able to kill me, if he put his mind to it." The knife moved over her skin thoughtfully. "I don't really care to test him that far." The woman pursed her lips, tapping the blade against Shepard's throat. She hadn't broken the skin – yet. "He might get pissy if I scar you . . . Goddess knows why – it's not like we're getting paid to deliver your lovely face."

The asari's hand moved and pain tore through Shepard's scalp. The woman held a wealth of dark hair in her hand, black over indigo. "But I don't think this will bother him."

Her head felt suddenly light. She closed her eyes and tried to deny it.

_Please, no._

Perhaps only another woman would have understood. Or one who had spent time in an internment camp. It was a way of dehumanizing the victim, debasement and humiliation. Krogan cut the crest, turians snapped the fringe or mandibles. It reduced the victim, took their identity and their pride.

Perhaps that had been why the asari had done it. It seemed so small in the face of everything else, and yet the small things were the ones that people clung to.

It felt like disfigurement. Short, uneven tendrils fell around her face, whispering over her shoulders before falling like leaves to the floor. The asari continued to work, scything until only scant inches remained to her.

She remembered Garrus running his hands through her hair, remembered the way she used to love it loose and windswept on shore leave, the comforting ritual of mirror and comb. Shepard stared blankly as the asari opened her hand and let the shadowy locks slip through her fingers.

"I suppose it was a vanity of yours, Shepard." she said quietly. "But you won't need vanity where you're going."

"Aleris?"

The woman jumped. Shepard closed her eyes and let her head hang. She knew that voice. She just hoped he'd tell the asari to go away so she can sleep. "Did you dose her?"

"Yes, Chek." The woman was subdued now, the fire in her eyes smothered. Sated spite and her commanding officer seemed to bring her back to her senses.

His voice was silky. "Then why are you still here?"

Quick steps receding. The door stayed open, and Shepard felt a hand go under her chin, lifting her head. She opened her eyes and set her jaw. Goddamn, she was tired and half-dead and hurting, but she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of showing it. She ignored the shorn locks at her feet, staring determinedly into golden, hawk-like eyes. Their hard iridescence reminded her of tiger's-eye.

"You're not half-broken yet, are you Shepard?" A tinge of admiration colored his voice. "You just can't help making enemies among my crew." He touched the shorn locks that grazed her temple lightly. His eyes lingered for a moment on the ragged cut that framed her face. "A shame."

Her nerves whispered uneasily. She gave him a hard smile. "I never did get along with gutter scum."

"Really?" He turned her head to one side, than the other. She offered no resistance. Shepard knew what he was looking for.

He inspected her neck, first one side, then the other, found nothing. She had had her Red tattoos removed at the first opportunity. "Given your past, I'm surprised."

Shepard let the jibe roll over her. "Says the barefaced turian. How much lon-" She gasped as his hand moved from her chin to her throat. _Christ, he's strong. You just don't know when to shut up, do you, Shepard?_

"I admire your insolence, Shepard – to a point." His talons tightened around protesting muscle and cartilage, and she tried to jerk her head away. Her trapped arms were useless. "After which it becomes an irritance."

Shepard could hardly hear him. Her eyes rolled back and suddenly she was years away, in an abandoned building, with the smell of bootlegger vodka and metal shavings in her lungs and another man's hands wrapped around her throat.

_Picks held her down, the rough concrete floor nicking at her skin through worn clothes. "You've got something of an attitude problem, sweetheart."_

_She scrabbled for purchase with her legs, but he outweighed her by a good forty pounds. The sounds of the street filtered into the empty warehouse – sirens, shouting, revving engines, the occasional gunshot. The feel of him on her midsection made her stomach churn. She can't breathe. "We can't have the kiddies thinking they can call the shots."_

_Brownout had gripped the city again tonight. She could see the stars through the grimy skylights above, distant eyes in an infinite face. A shuttle crossed the night sky serenely, stars glimmering in and out of its passage, blinking like the eyes of Argus._

_How she wished she were there instead. _

_Her hands darted for his eyes, consumed with the instinct to fight and flee. She scored a red line on his cheek before he slammed her head into the ground. She bit her tongue and tasted blood, an echo of the rusty metal smell that lingered around Picks. Bursts of color popped in and out of her vision. _

_His face was almost friendly. He always enjoyed handing out lessons. "After this, you fucking jump when we tell you to."_

"_Let go."_

"Excuse me?"

Her eyes flew open again. Her heart was pounding, and the ice shrieked through her veins. Her body twitched and shivered reflexively under its influence. The pain was blinding, but it couldn't mask the terror in her eyes. Her face was wet with mingled sweat and tears, and she wavered on the edge of consciousness. Sleep deprivation, starvation, hypothermia, torture. How much more could she endure? Damn Cerberus's eidetic memory.

She blinked through a veil of mist and pain. The turian's face was unreadable.

"Begging doesn't suit you, Shepard." Was it her, or did he sound disappointed? "Giving up already?"

Shepard thrust the fear back into the deep recesses of her mind, where it hovered like a shark in deep water. She took one deep breath, then another, chest rising and falling sharply. She'd always excelled under confrontation. "No," she replied, a smile coming in spite of her. "I just have to wait until the Normandy gets here."

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"Are you close to the rendezvous point?"

"About halfway there. We've been sticking to patrolled trade routes – slower, but less conspicuous and less likely that we'll be boarded."

"You ought to change ships. The Normandy managed to salvage a few minutes worth of footage on the Citadel."

"I warned Schroder about the AI. How much did they get?"

"Not enough to pick you out of a line-up themselves, but enough for someone at the docks to make an identification. Change ships, and tell Schroder that the next time he screws up, I'll stick him in the most remote backwater facility we have."

The fiasco with Tolor lingered in his mind. Damn Schroder – he should have come to him first. "If it comes to that, I'll space him myself."

"Don't be excessive, Chek. One more thing – Liara T'Soni met with the Normandy's crew this morning. She's joined them."

The turian paused. "Why did you not mention this to me at the beginning of this meeting?" His talons clenched behind his back and he could feel a headache starting behind his eyes. Tolor, Schroder, Aleris, now T'Soni. Shepard was a dangerous commodity. He needed to conclude this mission quickly.

He flashed back to her in the brig, half-dead and clinging to defiance. Her face, still striking despite Aleris's work, cheekbones bared and full mouth set in a line of anger. Her eyes were the blue-gray of desert shadows, and as cool. The idea of her being cut open by insectoid aliens is almost distasteful. The only other person on the ship that he could admire.

The Shadow Broker was waiting. Chek caught a flicker of what looked like amusement in his eyes. His gut told him something was off – the Broker both despised and feared the asari scientist. "And yet I thought you bought T'Soni off. You don't seem terribly upset by her about-face."

The Broker laughed. "Liara T'Soni hasn't betrayed me. She's my fucking plant."

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Even at this hour, Nos Astra was a hive of activity. The Normandy's crew watched the milling crowd of people from a quieter section of the docks. Miranda sat in a hard bench, legs crossed, and tapped her fingers against the armrest in agitation. Her right foot jogged up and down.

"Miranda," Tali whispered in a strained undertone. "Will you _please _stop that? You're shaking the bench."

The woman blinked in surprise, snapping out of her reverie. Her expression was a distillation of contrition and consternation. "Sorry." She stilled.

Garrus leaned against the wall next to the two women. Unlike his companions, he seemed utterly composed, coolly scanning the crowd, his face giving nothing away. His mask rarely slipped, a tightening of the jaw, a slight flare of his mandibles, an occasional flicker of impatience and concern in his eyes. Muffled advertisements drifted from the trading floor.

"She's late," Miranda said flatly. "Do you think she's been detained?"

"After the incident with her assistant, I imagine the Broker is keeping a hands-off policy," Tali commented.

"I'd like to believe you."

A flash of pale blue caught the turian's eyes. Dark brows over greenish eyes set the asari apart from her compatriots. It was Liara . . . but a decidedly different woman than their naïve scientist or jaded information broker.

The dark armor she wore was a clashing contradiction to the small briefcase she carried. Her confidence was not. She moved with the kind of assurance that spelled destruction for any obstacle in her way. Her face was grim.

Liara returned Tali's quick embrace absentmindedly. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. I had to lose some rather persistent tails." She shook Miranda's extended hand briskly. "Ms. Lawson, despite the circumstances, it's nice to see you again." She turned to Garrus.

"Nice get-up," he offered.

A smile teased the corners of her mouth.

Miranda took point, keying in the Normandy's access code. "Clock's ticking. Let's not wait around." The airlock hissed open, florescent lights flat and bright.

Liara cast one look behind her, a dark weight in her eyes. An almost inaudible sigh broke from her. "Indeed not."

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A/N: Thanks to all of you guys who have been reviewing. I always love hearing from you!


	10. Chapter 10

Hey guys. Sorry for the late upload, it's been pretty hectic the past few weeks. Thanks for being so patient. =)

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Chapter 10

Walls. Her entire existence had been reduced to walls, and cold, and pain. Even in semi-consciousness, the ice burned. Her body was limp with exhaustion and breathing was a ragged effort that tore through her like knives.

Her inhale dragged against a throat parched past endurance. The scent of blood, heavy, rusty, bitter, clung to her dry mouth. Every breath was like walking barefoot over glass. The wall at her back pressed against her like a regretful hand, while the others seemed to draw in close around her.

They hadn't quite gotten out the bloodstains of the two batarians; turning her head, she could see a violent array. It was a sprouting hydra's head, a vague reek in the semi-darkness.

Shepard exhaled slowly. Her shoulders sagged and her fettered arms pulled against the motion. She tried to flex her fingers, but the results were no different than they'd been an hour ago. She couldn't feel her hands, let alone move them.

The commander ceased her efforts after a few moments and stared at the closed door in resignation. Her attentive nurse would be here soon with a syringe . . . not that she needed it. Shepard could feel the ice swimming in her system, soaking into her cells like water into dry sand. They hardly needed cuffs to contain her anymore.

When she was young, close walls like this had meant safety. There were places in the Reds' hideout that were inaccessible to the bigger gangsters, places only the kids had been able to reach. When she was still able to, she had slept in safety in a tiny alcove, its door walled over, reachable only through ducts and scaffolding. She hadn't been the first one either – old bedding and tattered magazines and an ancient astronomy vid had been waiting for her.

Later, three weeks of work had yielded her a barely functional datapad, a rough skylight, and a dream.

It wasn't an exaggeration to say that the vid led her to the Alliance, to the Council, to . . .

. . . this. Shepard closed her eyes and thought instead of the Normandy. The alternative was to contemplate her own death.

She cast one last look around her before letting her head drop.

Walls.

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His eyes bored into the cloaked figure on the screen, deadpan despite his surprise. He didn't accept the asari's about-face nearly as complacently as his employer. "Now that you're done gloating over T'Soni, I take it you have a reason for summoning me?"

His irritation had no impact on the Broker. The voice was smooth and unhurried, pleased with itself. "Your transport will be waiting for you on 51."

"How delightful." Dammit, what game was the Broker playing? If Chek had his way, they would be en route to the Omega system, before any more damage was done.

But then, he hadn't been in control since the start of the mission. Past failure seemed to have made his employer nervous, even obsessive – even if it wasn't the turian's failure. Chek hadn't been on a leash this short since his military days. It ate at him. He could feel the plates at the back of his neck rising in vexation.

"Don't be impertinent. I've upped the ante, Chek. Our clients have agreed to wait another week or so before collecting their purchase, with some concessions on our part."

He couldn't quite keep the sardonic note out of his voice. His employer's evasive self-satisfaction was chafing him nearly as much as the sudden desire to micromanage. "Really? What persuaded them to do that?"

The Broker ignored him. "Redirect your course to 51. And Chek?" The voice rose on the last syllable, wry, triumphant. "Be prepared for guests."

Dimly, he felt the muscles between his shoulder blades twitch; his mandibles clenched tight to his face. "You mean to give them the Normandy." He spoke through gritted teeth, with the precision of exquisite irritation. First the imposition of those incompetent, irrational subordinates, the two batarians and asari, over his own people, then the introduction of T'Soni, now this.

It was not that he disliked these kind of dangerous games – they were his lifeblood and religion – but to be controlled so minutely, to have the strings jerked whimsically every time he moved, was intolerable.

_If you must play these games, decide three things at the start: the rules, the stakes, and the quitting time. _An old saying, human, he thought.

The rules of this game were constantly shifting now, the Broker's course veering into unpredictability. It was as if he no longer knew where his true goal laid, or cared what he paid for it.

It was one thing to work for a skilled and subtle player; but when obsession began to cloud their judgment, when they became unreliable . . . His mandibles clicked sharply as the thought crystallized.

The Shadow Broker was overreaching.

"Perhaps," the Broker spoke casually, but hot anticipation drifted through the feed nonetheless. "I'd prefer to study it myself. At the very least, I'll grant them some of the more interesting specimens on the ship. That krogan clone, those two human science experiments. They've expressed interest in Cerberus's pet AI as well. I've left you a few units on 51. You know what to do."

"I hope this will be our last little chat until our business is concluded?"

"Chek, are you annoyed with me? How ungracious."

"Ice is a dangerous tool," he said pointedly. "We never planned on detours. We may be close to reaching her limit, even with the Lazarus Project's improvements. I trust you want her in reasonable condition for pick-up?"

"Sedate her if you must – and yes, I realize how ineffective sedatives have proven on her. Knock her out if you need to. Stick her in one of the damp rooms when you arrive. It doesn't matter if she's comatose when she gets there. We can't afford to miss this opportunity."

His expression was stony, ocher eyes hooded. "Is that all?" He hadn't been exaggerating about Shepard's declining tolerance for the ice. Two hours ago the woman had looked as though she'd been dragged through hell, facedown.

"No." The Broker's voice sliced through the feed, pleased, cold. Chek locked his talons behind his back impatiently, feeling the first touch of stress-induced heat. He stifled the vibrations beginning at the back of his throat. He knew what the Broker wanted before it reached his ears.

"When she arrives, I want Dr. T'Soni's head. Kill her."

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Garrus flicked through his messages impatiently. Tali had taken Liara to the spare room in the cargo hold to get her settled in; Miranda had asked them all to reconvene in fifteen minutes to go over their data. In the meantime - he _had_ neglected his various friends and contacts – he replied to Dr. Michel's inquiries, declined Kelly's Colonyville invite, and bounced another armament idea off of an old contact. Ken's poker invitation drew his thoughts inevitably to Shepard – the sly little smirk that indicated a good hand, the bland, disinterested expression that spelled either certain victory or total defeat.

He missed her face.

His teeth ground together. _Dammit, I will find you and take you down. _As if stealing and desecrating her lifeless body weren't enough, they had the nerve to abduct her off the Citadel itself . . . It brought up old memories he had worked hard to bury – high-risk kidnapping cases at C-Sec, child abductions, slave raids . . . In most cases, the victim had ended up injured or de – he stopped himself mid-thought and scrolled down again.

_From: Lantar Sidonus_

For a moment his mind went blank. His talon drifted toward the delete key, paused. His stomach clenched and he forced himself to read on. Shepard, at least, would have encouraged him to.

_Subject: Thought this might be your girl_

His heart pounded once against his ribs like a boxer's punch and the breath rushed out of him. Garrus opened the message, waves of heat and cold alternating over his skin.

_Garrus,_

_I hope this gets to you. Bailey told me he could make it happen, but then he may have been pretending to humor me._

_They have me working in a prison program at the docks. The Citadel is still trying to figure out where to extradite me. I was there a few nights ago and saw a group hustling someone through the docks. They reminded me of the toughs on Omega – not the street scum, but the ones we dealt with - mercs, professionals. I wouldn't have thought twice, but then the hood of her jacket fell back. I caught a glimpse of her, but they were gone before I could say anything. _

_I hope I'm mistaken, but she looked a damn sight like your commander – and I don't think I'm wrong. If it wasn't, and she's all right, I'll be glad. But I couldn't sit on this information not knowing – I owe her . . . and you, my life. Check the video feed for Dock 725 from 0030 to 0045. If that was her, they left on the Pheobus II._

He bolted from the room.

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Eager tension buzzed through the comm room. Miranda accepted a glass of water from Liara, thanking her quietly. "Garrus, are you sure this is genuine?"

"Positive. I was his commander for over a year – it's him." She still did not look convinced and he threw down his last card. "I contacted Bailey immediately after – he confirmed it a few minutes ago."

EDI broke into their conversation_. "I am accessing Citadel files. There are over two hundred cameras in the Citadel docks. Citadel software employs a great deal of redundant security; Tali Zorah believes it is possible the Shadow Broker's hacker may not have been able to tamper with all of them."_

"What did he say the name of the ship was?" Miranda inquired again.

"Pheobus II."

She nodded. "The Illusive Man requested that he be kept informed of all possible leads. I'd like to give him the opportunity to check this one out. Please excuse me." She drained her glass and stood, heels clicking as she left the room.

Liara slid another glass toward Jacob. "I've picked up some interesting transmissions from within the Shadow Broker's network. A few days ago there was a virtual storm of messages concerning an important pick-up at a base of operations called Asteroid 51." She tapped a few keys on her omni-tool and a star cluster burst into bloom above the table.

"Exodus system." Jacob commented. "Canaan, right?" He shook his head. "But that's all asteroid fields. Nothing habitable."

The asari smiled wryly. Her eyes were a pale blue-green in the bright light."You'll see. To get back to the messages I intercepted, they mentioned damping rooms and ice several times, as well as the overriding need to keep 'the specimen' in question as intact as possible – and – thank the Goddess – alive."

"Ice?" Thane asked. His brow ridges were furrowed over bottomless eyes. Liara blinked and forced her thoughts away from Feron.

"It's a relatively new drug developed out in the Terminus. It inhibits biotics and limits physical activity."

"A sedative?" Thane sipped thoughtfully, then shook his head. He set it down and steepled his fingers. "Given the cybernetics Cerberus gave her, how effective would that be?" His gravelly voice was contemplative, with no sign of the tension in his interlaced fingers.

"Almost useless. Ice isn't a sedative, it's . . . " she caught Garrus's eye and looked away, seeing his talons clenched on the table. His mandibles flared once, sharply. She hesitated, then continued, slipping into technical mode, eager to get it over with "It's a nerve amplifier. In essence, adrenaline and the hormones released by biotics trigger it to –"

"It's a torture method, is what you're telling us." Garrus leaned on his hands, bowed over the table. His eyes were a furious blue gleam and he shook off Tali's comforting hand. Self-contained rage seethed around him like a poisonous cloud.

Samara closed her eyes briefly and Jack snarled, turning her back to the group and leaning against the table. She crossed her arms over her chest as old memories of Pragia tugged at her mind. "Shepard's tough," she bit out. Then her hand balled into a fist and her arm darted out suddenly; her empty glass shattered on the floor.

"Jack." Jacob's rebuke was tired and half-hearted. Thane pulled the pieces to him, glittering like tears.

"Will it have any permanent effects on her?" Samara asked.

"Let's find her first," Grunt snapped.

Liara shook her head, but not in negation. "I don't know. That depends on the doctor they have with them, the concentration they use, how her body reacts . . ." She sighed. "Dr. Solus is more qualified to answer that question than I am."

Mordin blinked as heads snapped toward him. "As Grunt said, need to locate Shepard first. Health concerns secondary." The salarian saw jaws tighten and eyes narrow around the table and held up his hands in submission. "Dr. T'Soni, the relevant data, please." He held out his arm and Liara streamed the information to his omni-tool. He nodded, then departed for the lab, muttering about an overabundance of haste and testosterone among the crew.

Miranda paused at the door to let him pass. "I've briefed the Illusive Man. He suggested we head for the Canaan system."Her eyes flicked toward Liara as she continued, before settling on the rest of the crew. "He will be providing a discreet escort. They'll be waiting in the Utopia system for our signal."

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The asari held the needle down with a firm grip as grim as her smile. Her eyes glided over the commander's pale skin with its unhealthy sheen, the bloody cuts on her cheek from the batarian's fist, dried and flaking, and lastly, lingering, over her own work. Sweat made her hair cling in short, spiky strands around her face and neck. "You aren't going to last much longer, Shepard." The dimple in her left cheek looked out of place under the hard gleam of her eyes. "You can already feel what the ice is doing to you, can't you? I won't be surprised if you end up crippled, or a vegetable."

She removed the empty syringe with a sharp tug. Shepard barely flinched. "I hope you won't blame me for gloating a little. This might be the last time you're coherent enough to listen." The woman grabbed her chin. "You _are _listening, I hope?"

Blue-gray eyes opened and looked past and through her, feverish and misted. Shadows bruised her eyes.

The asari smiled ruefully at her. "I guess that's a no."

"Aleris – did you just dose her again!"

The asari gritted her teeth and swung around, letting Shepard's head drop. "Of course I did, Schroder. Every six hours, on the hour."

The man's face was panicked. "I told you, I needed to look at the numbers before you gave her another injection. Fuck, did you at least dilute it?"

She shrugged. "Must have slipped my mind."

"Before or after you started slapping her around? Jesus, the Broker's not going to pay us for a half-dead vegetable!"

"As long as she's intact when we get there, the Collector's will pay us regardless of her mental state," she retorted. "Besides, I haven't laid a finger on her. That was your two idiot batarian pals."

"Jesus fucking Christ –"

"That's quite enough from both of you." Chek's voice cracked like a gunshot into their argument. Schroder halted mid-sentence, looking toward the turian framed in the doorway.

His expression was rigid, his mandibles and jaw tight. The two agents fell back as he cut through them like an ocean liner between waves. Ignoring them in the sudden silence, he stopped in front of Shepard's limp form. Lifting her head, he studied the half-open eyes that refused to focus, the tinge of blue that veiled her lips and eyelids. She remained passive throughout his examination, and it was this submissiveness that concerned him more than any of her other symptoms. Her cheek was unnaturally cool.

"Schroder, prep a bed in the med bay for her. I want her sedated or unconscious for the rest of the trip. _Don'_t ice her again." His eyes flicked to Aleris and his mandibles flared as he released his grip on Shepard. Her cheek slid against his hand as her head fell. "I think some of us have been a little . . . overenthusiastic in our handling of Shepard."

"But Chek – all the way to Omega? It can't be done. We've already bounced through too many systems to throw them off- "

"I know. I've just come from speaking with the Broker. We're taking a detour to 51. We can put her in a damp room once we get there. I don't want her iced again until we leave. Aleris," the turian looked at her sidelong and the predatory harshness of his expression forcing her back an inadvertent step. His eyes were fierce and keen. "Get up to the cockpit. You're co-piloting until we get into dock."

Human and asari left quickly, sensing his mood. The turian reached for Shepard's wrists, unlocking the cuffs holding her up. He caught her as she began to slide down the wall. Her pulse was shallow and fluttering under his inspection, her breathing erratic. Her skin was unnaturally cool, and dewed with perspiration. Chek brushed back a few damp strands of dark hair that clung to her forehead.

He ground his teeth at the angry red mark just under her shoulder, the mark of a syringe withdrawn with vicious intent. Again he wished for his own people – dedicated, obedient, loyal. Of the crew, only Schroder and the pilot remained; Shepard had killed Ming.

It was a poor team the Broker had given him – individuals accustomed to working alone. Experts in their own fields, but expertise was less important than reliability on a high-risk assignment. The Broker had ignored this, allowing obsession to override reason.

He shifted her to his shoulder. She was a soft and boneless weight, unarmored skin, delicate fingers, seemingly defenseless. He glanced at the bloodstains on the walls, shook his head, and left the brig.

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Shepard was stirring feebly on the floor when he entered the med-bay again. Trailing various IVs behind her, a fly escaped from a spiderweb, she lay almost a third of the way to the door. Her fingers tensed and grasped at the floor, pulling herself a quarter of an inch forward as he watched. Liquid bled and pooled from the broken tubes hanging from her body. A sharp, quiet gasp broke from her and pain flashed over her face.

A tremor went through her body as she stretched out her arm again.

Chek sighed, crossing to kneel beside her. Shepard moved forward another half-inch in a desperate jerk as he knelt. He slipped an arm under her, lifting her off of the floor before settling her in his arms. The IVs continued to drip in a near-silent patter on the floor. A weight seemed to press down on his shoulders as he looked down into her face, although carrying her presented no challenge to him. Her chin was up and her cloudy gaze wavered between rebellious and disoriented. There was no fear in her face anymore.

"You damn fool, Shepard," he said softly.

Three seconds took him across what had been thirty minutes of struggling for her. He laid her down on the hospital cot, easily catching the hand she attempted to bat him with. Her fingers tightened around his, trying to shove his arm away. The turian looked down on her as he slid the cuff around her wrist before securing it to the frame.

"I'm afraid you tore your IVs, Shepard." He began to strip the various tubes from her body, inserting new ones, talons deftly finding her veins. He smoothed back choppy strands from her brow, looking to the monitor beside the medical cot. Her temperature had risen to a healthier degree, and her skin was no longer clammy, although the bright lighting bled her face of color. Even her lips were pale, and the blackness of her hair was like ink. Her eyes were clear, almost transparent, ghostly in a white face. They met his own with a strange mixture of confusion and defiance."Where did you imagine you were going?" he asked softly.

His gaze fell to the knife strapped to his boot. It rested there for a few moments, his face closed and contemplative. How easy it would be to draw it and save –

"Hovering over her bedside now?" Aleris leaned against the doorframe, lithe and predatory. Her smirk narrowed her gleaming cat's eyes.

He straightened to his full height and turned to face her. "I thought I made it fairly clear for you to keep away from the med bay."

She shrugged, slipping away from the door. He glanced at her sidelong as she looked at the commander. Her lips compressed. "She looks better." Her voice was flat, almost disappointed. "Seems like there was no need to worry."

"Her stats disagree with you. Why did you give her that last dose?" He slid closer, towering over her. "Spite, Aleris?" She backed up as he stepped forward, biting the words out sharply. "I don't care if she killed your mate – I do not care if she killed your first-born child, I am _not_ delivering a broken vegetable to the Shadow Broker." His hand shot out, trailing blue sparks, and grabbed the front of her armor, pinning her against cold metal. Her eyes widened and she inhaled sharply as she felt his biotics crushing her to the wall. "I tolerated your petty little torments, but you've exhausted my patience. Try anything else and I will tear out your spine."

She laughed uneasily. "The Broker would hardly condone – " She choked on her words as a blue vise tightened around her throat.

"The Broker," Chek said, his face inches from hers, "does not tolerate failure either." Blue flames flickered over his face, veiling his eyes, gliding over the fringe so reminiscent of Saren.

He felt her shiver as he released her. "Save your adolescent grudges for the Normandy."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

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The first thing she saw was the gun.

The turian was fingering it almost absent-mindedly. Brow plates drawn together, he stared into a point just beyond the far wall. The murmur of patient machines was an odd counterpoint to the restive glimmer in his eyes. The lights in the med bay had been dimmed after her sedation. It was a gray twilight world that she woke into.

Déjà vu hit her like a punch to the gut.

"Why are you here?"

Her voice was a resigned whisper, exhausted and quiet. Husky, after so much ill-use.

His eyes gleamed brightly in the darkness, irises almost black in the absence of light. "You seem to have found a dedicated enemy in Aleris." He holstered the gun, but made no move to stand. The dull sheen of his armor shifted queerly as shadows slid over him. Darkness tugged at the outline of his face. "Schroder is many things, but a competent guard is not one of them." His eyes were lit with a low steady flame, coals in a dampened fire. The turian leaned forward, resting on his elbows and regarded her over steepled talons. His mandibles shivered, yet his voice was cool. "I trust you're feeling better?"

Vertigo danced behind her eyes and she broke the glance between them. "I'm starting to feel halfway human again now that you've stopped drugging and torturing me, yes," she retorted. Shepard tested the cuffs that bound her wrists to the rails of the bed, looking down and away to inspect them. Steel rails, handcuffs so tight they almost chafed. No luck there.

He followed the movement with his eyes, seemingly unperturbed. "May I remind you that we only resorted to the latter after your little prison break?" His tone managed to convey both acerbic humor and reprimand. "Heroics may have served you well on Elysium, Shepard, but you'll gain nothing by them here."

Her gaze drifted to the ceiling, a slight deepening shadowed the corner of her mouth. Her frown tugged at half-healed cuts and bruises and she gritted her teeth. She could not deny it. Shepard raised herself up experimentally, bracing herself on her forearms and took stock. Her body protested the movement, the ache in her muscles wrapping around her like a shroud. Her cuffs rattled against the bars, stopping further movement. Her fingers began to clench in the sheets, knotting and twisting, before she forced her white-knuckled hands to relax. Her bare arm still bore the bruises of her recapture, his talons. He stood immediately, taking half a pace toward her, but she shook her head. The turian crossed his arms, expression skeptical in the gray gloom.

Her head alternated between swimming and pounding and her body hummed with a low stinging sensation. The dehydration was gone for the most part, but nausea had taken its place. She felt like the morning after shore leave, and then some.

In short, it was an incredible improvement. Shepard took an inhale to steady herself before looking up. His chin lifted slightly, gaze calculating.

She met his eyes calmly. "On some level, we respect each other, Chek." She spoke quietly. "Let me tell you, one commander to another, that I agree _my _heroics don't have half a chance of succeeding." In the dim shadows, the features of Saren echoed out to her. Inexplicably, the flash of the gun flickered before her eyes again, his last moment of redemption. She remembered his pale eyes, the dying of their light. The way his head had jerked with the force of the shot, and the spurt of blue blood from his carotid. The smell of burning trees, ash and drifting leaves, lingered in the air around her. Orange flames consumed the amaranthine light.

She inhaled deeply, and blinked as the sharp tang of antiseptic and metal hit her. The world was gray and dim again. Saren was long dead. Chek was watching her, his head tilted slightly, eyes narrowed. She blinked again, and continued, her throat dry. Her words were breathy, gaining strength as she continued. "However . . . the actions that the Normandy might take – will take – matter quite a bit."

"The Normandy won't save you, Shepard." Oddly enough, he didn't sound triumphant, only tired.

She regarded him solemnly, dark-eyed and unmoved. Her features were delicate, almost fragile, amidst the quietly beeping, murmuring medical equipment around her.

How slight and grave she looked, this woman who had painted the ship with blood, who still wore the marks of that violence in red lacerations and dark bruises on her skin. Shepard met his eyes with calm deliberation, her words measured and reasonable. "I offered you a chance to back out once, Chek. I'm offering it again now. Your asari commando is standing on the edge of a cliff and ready to take us all with her when she goes. I suggest you take my offer before you find yourself with a mutiny or a dead crew on your hands."

He sat back down and it took her a moment to recognize the slight quiver in his mandibles as amusement. The turian's voice had the unmistakable ring of arrogance when he answered. "Shepard, I am more than capable of cutting her down, and she knows it. Grief and rage have not yet made her suicidal." Chek met her eyes coolly, and then the mirth was gone from his voice. "Believe me, when she reaches that point, I will not hesitate to kill her."

It was all too common, in her line of work, to meet men with ice in their blood. With Chek, she believed that coldness might well go down to the marrow of his bones. "Don't let overconfidence blind you."

In a few smooth strides he was standing beside her. He moved in near-silence, as she remembered. "It rarely does." His eyes were intent, brilliant, burning amber; a primeval predator with the scent of blood. Sterile air stirred as the ventilation began to hum. He shifted, blocking her from the draft. Gently, insidiously, the scent of hot metal and musk reached out to engulf her, trailing nebulous fingers over her face, whispering into her lungs. "I appreciate your offer Shepard, but I cannot accept it." She blinked as he drew the pistol at his hip.

"Allow me to make a counteroffer." He held the gun up for her inspection. "This."

A chill rippled over her skin; the gesture was one of deep respect, and, it seemed to her, utter coldness. "I don't follow you, Chek."

Half a smile flickered across his face. "Of course you do, Shepard. We're old campaigners." There was no trace of mockery in his voice now. He looked into her eyes intently and without flinching. "I know how little compassion you can expect at the hands of your buyers. They will quite probably inflict horrors on you. But," he reversed the gun in his hand, holding it by the barrel, and made as though to offer it to her, "it isn't necessary for you to face that. I'm offering you a choice." The gun gleamed dully in the dim light.

"You told the asari you wouldn't give the Shadow Broker broken merchandise," she stalled, her mind racing in little circles. Adrenaline spasmed through her and her lungs were suddenly airless.

His gaze never faltered. "I said I wouldn't give him a catatonic. And I will keep my word."

She looked away, staring at the restraints around her wrist. Cold metal, chilly and gleaming, like the gun.

It would be a lie to say that in that brief instant, she was not tempted. The Collectors had been much in her mind during her imprisonment, and her visions of the Protheans, of the slow, agonizing transformation and experimentation, provided fertile ground for fear to grow. In her time at the Lazurus Cell, some part of her had become machine, had ceased to become human, but what had been done to the Protheans was an atrocity. Some things, no sapient creature should have to endure. But,

But,

The Normandy. Garrus. Joker. Samara. Tali. Miranda. Thane. Her people, her crew. Everyone under her command was waiting for her.

They would search the edges of space and time to find her. Killing herself would be easy, cowardly, even understandable. But, as much as she feared the Collectors' knives and machines, the idea of her second, preventable, death, was worse. It would be betrayal to give up on her crew.

Chek waited patiently for her response, silent and unmoving. In the darkness, he waited like the angel of death, standing calmly over her.

She took a deep breath, saw the faintest gleam in his eyes as she licked her lips.

Depthless blue eyes looked up at him. Dusky shadows carved and caressed her face. He saw her fingers tense slightly on the bed.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "But I'll take my chances."

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"We're en route to Canaan. Stealth systems are engaged. Dr. T'Soni has given us an approximate of their location."

The Illusive Man's face flared into sharp relief as he lit his cigarette. The darkness of space stretched around her, infinite, pricked with thousands of points of light. The star at his back burned into her eyes, omnipotent and restless, even in the final dwindling of its life. "Good. Have you been watching the doctor herself?"

Miranda allowed no hint of her annoyance to enter her voice. "She's been monitored since the moment she boarded the ship, as I'm sure she's well aware."

Her boss didn't flinch. "A necessary precaution. You know that, Miranda, as do I. And so does she, if she's half as intelligent as my sources tell me."

"I prefer not to antagonize her."

He inhaled deeply, smoke trickling slowly down his into his lungs. His exhale was almost a sigh. Miranda's newly discovered conscience nibbled at him like a mosquito, a minor irritant that was nevertheless impossible to ignore. Shepard had a way of infecting others with her idealism.

Hopefully it wouldn't affect his own control over his agent.

"Liara is an unknown element, dangerous and bent on revenge. Don't make the mistake of looking at her as an ally. Dr. T'Soni is an asset, Miranda." He waved his cigarette in response to her raised eyebrow. Smoke trailed lazily in its wake before dissipating into darkness. "An asset the Shadow Broker very much wishes to acquire."

She raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, full mouth pursed. "Sir, you know you can cut to the chase with me."

He smiled grimly. His operative was still there, beneath the newly acquired veneer of ideals. "I have little information on 51, and even less on what you will be facing there. It is possible you may have a stalemate on your hands. My men are there to halt any outgoing ships, not storm the station." The tip of his cigarette glowed red, reflecting like hot embers in his inhuman eyes. "If that should happen, you possess a bargaining chip the Broker will pay high stakes for."

Her voice was flat, almost distasteful. "You're suggesting we give Dr. T'Soni to them if our backs are to the wall." She rested a hand on her black-clad hip, shifting her weight. Her hair swung as she shook her head sharply. "How do you know he'll even accept such an offer? I'm positive the Collectors are offering an obscene amount for Shepard. Why would the Shadow Broker pass that up for a single asari barely out of childhood?"

A veil of smoke hung before his face as he exhaled, draconic. The metallic sheen of his eyes glowed a sullen red with the light from his cigarette. "The Broker isn't a machine. Money, or revenge? Which would you choose, Miranda?"

She inhaled and the Illusive Man smiled coldly as her lips parted, comprehension trickling across her face. "Exactly."

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The beaker moved.

It scraped against the counter with a soft shudder of sound. Had she not been watching for it, she would have missed the minute movement. Her efforts were bought with pain, but it was a burning, remote sort of pain, as though raw, overworked muscles had become numb with heat.

A smile lifted the corner of her mouth, bruises forgotten as a quiet thrill of euphoria stole through her mind. Had her nerves simply become over-taxed, and were now on strike? Was the ice being flushed out of her body, filtered through tubes and whirring machines, more quickly than anticipated?

She didn't know. It didn't matter.

She had moved the glass.

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Someone was already in the observation room when she entered.

His silhouette cut the star-strewn void like a knife. His head turned, briefly, as she hesitated by the open door. He was remote in that instant, a distant figure lost in his demons.

She broke the silence. "I didn't mean to intrude." Her hands hung limp by her side. His grief and anger were silent companions to her guilt. She closed her eyes briefly and rested a hand against the doorframe. Her limbs felt suddenly, unbearably heavy. _Goddess forgive me._

He shook his head. "You aren't." He sighed as she continued to stand on the threshold. His voice was deep, soft, without rancor at being interrupted. They had always gotten on well. "There's no need to stand by the door. Come in."

She padded across the room quietly. She'd grown more graceful, he noticed, their clumsy scientist turned from adolescent awkwardness to mature confidence. He almost didn't recognize this sleek creature with her secretive eyes. Eyes like closed and shuttered windows. "I didn't take you for a stargazer, Garrus."

A half-smile flitted across his face. "I'm not. Shepard is."

"Oh."

He continued as though she had not spoken. "She would come here whenever she needed to think, to brood, to reflect." He touched the glass lightly, eyes on something far beyond even the edge of the starry abyss. "Starlight suited her."

Liara looked at him almost pityingly. "You love her."

"Yes."

Her hand crept to his shoulder, platonic, comforting. She spoke almost hesitantly. "I heard . . . about Horizon. About the two of you. I'm glad." For a moment, the shy scientist peered out through her eyes, artless and young. His shoulders bowed as he sighed, looking at her sidelong. Memories of Illium slid past her, of glances darting and lingering, of careful distance and irresistible magnetism. "You need each other."

"When I . . . " she stopped. "When I had to leave Feron, I had no idea if I would ever see him again, if he would live." Her mouth tightened and she stared into the darkness with eyes that glittered. "I still don't. But Shepard – " Liara smiled a hard, exultant smile. "She's alive. I know it." The asari's hand tightened on his shoulder.

"And we're bringing her home."

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The glass slid smoothly across the counter now, like a skater over ice. After she declined his offer, Chek had sedated her before leaving the medbay. She had drifted in and out of hazy semi-consciousness for hours before it began to wear off. Now everything was sharp and clear, crystallized by the thrill of her discovery.

She tugged the glass toward her once again. It lifted, glittering as it turned in the air, drifting to her like a feather on the breeze. She reached out to take it.

The door hissed open.

Shepard started and the glass dropped. She closed her eyes against the inevitable shatter.

It never came. The turian held it suspended, bare inches above the floor. His expression was unreadable as the glass spun silently in space. "I see you're on your way to recovery."

Shepard lifted her chin and smiled. Her eyes glittered with fierce triumph.

He sighed. "I didn't come to check up on you, Shepard." She flinched as his biotics slammed into her, rippling over her skin, sleek and insidious. His will clamped down on her body and she fought to breathe, lip curling as she glared. Her eyes and lungs burned.

He met her defiance with calm resignation. "We've arrived."

The handcuffs clicked off her wrists as she slid off the bed, stiff, aching, and unwilling to show it. Her arms were forced behind her before being cuffed again. She stood with only a hint of unsteadiness, face set as she met the eyes above her with a disdainful surety she did not feel.

Chek shook his head and placed a hand between her shoulderblades, turning her toward the door. The unlit hall beyond was a yawning void. "You should have taken my offer, Shepard."

Talons pressing into her back, he guided her into darkness.

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A/N: Next chapter is when everything hits the fan. Thanks for continuing to review, guys, those alerts in my inbox always make my day!


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

They did not blindfold her.

They did not need to. Near-white biotics swam over her eyes, as crippling as though she'd been staring into the heart of the sun. Chek had encased her entire body in biotics before they entered the hangar. They prickled and stung, moving restlessly over her skin. Sightless and bound, she walked through a world of light, holding her head high against the unseen eyes she felt crawling over her. The sound of her own breathing echoed dimly in her ears. Only the hard hand at her back directed her.

She could hear Chek issuing rapid-fire orders the moment they entered the docking bay, over the sharp, heavy tempo of boot heels against the floor and the rap of guns against armor. She shivered reflexively as a wall of cold air hit her and felt her skin prickle.

"This way, Shepard."

She focused on the hand at her back, the hard floor beneath her. Blind as she was, it was disorienting to be directed down passageways that seemed to wind and double back and turn at odd angles. Even the gravity was off, her body moved too quickly and lightly. Or perhaps it was the fear that seemed to make time move at breakneck velocity, as she was led to slaughter by the juggernaut at her side.

Termination. Inevitability. Shepard had scorned the words in the mouth of a Reaper, but now they stared her in the face like a statistic.

She breathed in the dry air and concentrated on the sound of her own footsteps. "Where am I being taken?" Shepard clasped her bound hands behind her back, hiding their bone-white tension. Her feet scuffed the floor as it began to slope.

"One of the station's damp rooms." His hand shifted and tightened on her shoulder, pulling her abruptly to a stop. Ahead, she heard the clatter of feet and excited undertones.

"Where are they-"

"He's expecting them-"

"Any day now-"

Her heart jumped to her throat as she caught their conversation. Shepard's body turned leaden, a deep chill settling over her. Her breath hitched as their words paralyzed her lungs.

The footsteps stumbled to a stop. "Damn, I thought she'd be taller." Deep, ringing voice. Batarian. Someone laughed. "Looks like twelve kinds of hell, Chek. Have you been sa-"

She felt his hand clench on her back. She bit her tongue as a talon pierced her clothing, biting into the flesh beside her spine. His antipathy was palpable. The turian's voice rang out sharply. "Get to your posts." As the group moved off, his talons slid roughly down her arm before gripping it firmly. "Batarian scum," he hissed flatly.

She turned her head toward his voice. She could feel the distaste emanating from him, and although she could not see his face, she imagined his mandibles were tight. She remembered the amber burn of his eyes when he stood over her body and threatened the asari mercenary. Whispers of heat seeped through his armor. "Strange to see turian racism directed against a species other than humanity," she commented, eyes searching through the shifting veil of white. She spoke carefully, feeling her way through quicksand.

His voice was dismissive. "The debacle at Relay 314 aside, I have nothing against your species, Shepard. We followed orders." A faint growl vibrated from her right, echoing like a bass instrument in her lungs. "Batarians are a species of squabbling pirates. They lack discipline." His tone verged on contempt,suggesting a more personal reason for his distaste.

Memories of her time in the brig clicked. She inhaled with quiet satisfaction, forced the revelation from her face."You didn't ask for Tolor and his friend," Shepard said flatly, eyes narrowed against the white flare before them. Her voice was low, hovering cautiously between them. A tentative hold.

She focused on his grip on her arm, firm, with the barest hint of tension. Shepard's breathing shallowed, instinct forcing her to stillness. Air vents hummed faintly overhead. The corridor was empty but for them. She could feel his eyes on her. Her head tilted up in the direction of his voice. Everything was a white fire before her eyes, but she did not need to see his gaze to feel the weight of it. She could hear his breathing close to her, the scrape of plates as his mandibles flared. He sounded only inches from her face. She looked guilelessly, steadily up, at him. Her voice was low and soft. "The Broker forced them on you, didn't he?"

She bit the inside of her cheek as his talons pierced her arm. The pain was sharp and clear where he held her, throbbing like the coppery ache in her mouth. He kept her pinned like a hawk with his prey. Shepard held herself rigidly, refusing to flinch. When Chek spoke, his voice hovered near her ear and she felt the brush of his cheekbone fringe. The heat of his skin was a shock after the cold air.

"I've heard that you talked Saren Arterius into scrambling his own brains, Shepard," he remarked dispassionately. "Your powers of persuasion must be truly remarkable," His words were hot against her cheek and Shepard shivered as his breath moved over her skin. She strained to hear the vocal cues beneath the flange. The turian's voice was flat. Had she rattled him? "But don't mistake one turian for another."

He jerked her arm and she followed him reluctantly down the hall.

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"Heat sinks engaged. We are the Invisible freakin' Man." Joker twitched the baseball cap on his head, fingers dancing over the Normandy's controls

Miranda paced behind him in the cockpit. "You're sure that's it?"

Liara nodded, her eyes on the spheroid structure ahead of them. Innocuous, dusty brown and unremarkable except for its gargantuan size, it hovered silently in the asteroid belt. "Yes. I understand it's a strip-mined asteroid the Shadow Broker had remodeled."

Miranda nodded. "EDI, jam their systems. I want an open hangar blind and waiting for us." She turned to the asari. "Any last-minute surprises we didn't cover in the meetings?"

"Not that I know of. Blueprints place the brig near the center of the facility; as long as the teams keep moving inward, we'll hit it. EDI can lock down their shuttles, but even if they bypass her, your Illusive Man has ships waiting. "

Garrus stood silent next to Joker. The pilot glanced up, seeing the tension in his jaw. Above his scars, the turian's eyes were burning with the hot blue intensity of an eezo core. "Hey Garrus," Joker said.

The former vigilante glanced down at him and Joker fought back a sigh. Reading turian facial expressions was a bitch at the best of times, but Joker knew Garrus well enough to see that he was sick with worry and desperately ready to shoot anything that stood between him and the commander. Joker offered a lopsided smile. "Snipe a few for me, will you?"

The turian almost smiled, his mandibles relaxing away from his face. "I'll even take pictures, Joker."

EDI spoke from her pedestal, calm and collected. "_I have accessed the station's controls. Approach the hangar at these coordinates. I shall attempt to use 51's internal surveillance system to find Shepard."_

Joker grinned fiercely and bent back over the controls. "Show time, guys."

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Shepard felt a wave of hot air on her face as the door clicked open. Stepping forward, she felt an immediate sense of pressure on her ears. Moments later, they were ringing and the first pulse of a migraine beat against her temples.

"You'll adjust to the air pressure in a few minutes, Shepard." The turian was cool and collected once more. "The pain should be minimal."

The glaring veil of biotics over her eyes vanished and she froze, disoriented in the sudden darkness. Dull, amorphous afterimages danced through her vision before dissipating into shadows. Rapid blinks brought the small, confined space into hazy focus. Dim, blue light, little better than a dying dwarf star, revealed a five-by-five steel cell, bare of any adornment.

"You don't plan on keeping me here long." Shepard stated flatly. "How close are the Collectors?" Her migraine had subsided into a vague feeling of pressure, but the atmosphere still seemed to clamp around her body.

He began to reply when his comm chirped. He listened for a moment, head cocked, before giving her an inscrutable look. Fear crept over her skin like frost.

The turian shrugged his shoulders back, absently loosening his body for action as he listened to the radio chatter. Finally he nodded, issued a series of brisk commands, and began to turn away. "If you'll excuse me Shepard, I have to meet with our guests."

Shepard seized his arm, driven by instinctive urgency. His armor was pitted under her hand."Chek," she began. The words caught in her throat.

It was a mark of how little he feared her, that he did not even flinch. He glanced back at her, eyes black and unmoved, sphinx-like. Even with their biotics mitigated by the damping room, in a hand to hand fight, his taller, stronger frame gave him the advantage. Even so, the thought flickered through her mind, desperate and primal, driven by generations of struggle that screamed in every cell of her being. Her body tensed as adrenaline raced through her, propelled by a heart determined to keep beating. Shepard inhaled quickly, pupils dilated in the dark and desperation. Her breath hitched and she steeled herself. She wondered, briefly, if he saw this, for he sighed quietly.

"I can leave you a knife, if you wish."

Surprise made her stop short. The moment was lost when he freed himself from her grasp, smooth and unconcerned. Caught off guard, the motion pushed her back a few steps farther than it would have ordinarily. She watched, stunned, as he took the knife from his boot and tossed it toward her. It skittered and spun across the floor, a flashing deadly blur, before coming to rest before her feet. She knelt to take it. Then, with six inches of blue steel in her hands, she watched him leave.

"Goodbye, Shepard." The doors whirred closed, taking with them the unreadable golden eyes. She though she saw his mandibles flare slightly, then the doors locked and darkness was upon her.

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The hangar was empty, but her scanner showed movement up ahead of them. They had, it seemed, merited a reception.

"All right people, this is it." Miranda squared her shoulders as the assembled team behind her drew weapons. She herself left her pistol at her hip. The Cerberus commando had an idea of what would be waiting for them outside the hangar, and it wouldn't be an ambush. Garrus was cold and focused at her side, his face an icy mask. Only his eyes burned.

A full battalion awaited them beyond the hangars, their guns down. Arrayed across the room like a steel fan, they waited, fingers resting on the trigger. The unmarked turian alone had not drawn a weapon, although his armor, battle-scarred and smoky grey, said he was more than capable of using it. He turned his head briefly to eye the twitching salarian cadet. Miranda fought to keep the surprise from her face. The elongated spines sprouting from his cheekbones . . . Saren too, had been unmarked.

She glanced sidelong at Garrus, eyebrows raised in concerned query. His gaze never left the turian in question, but he shook his head minutely. Coincidence. The only thing this turian and Saren had in common was that they were both going to die with a bullet in their brain.

"Since you're not firing, I trust you know who we are." Miranda addressed the tall, impassive alien.

His mandibles flexed slightly. "Your persistence is to be commended, Operative Lawson." He glanced over her shoulder. "Dr. T'Soni. I'm pleased to see there will be no further complications."

The asari's footsteps clicked against the floor as she came to stand beside Miranda. Her face was cold and her voice rigid. "Where is Feron?" Green eyes devoured the gold.

The turian held her stare impassively. "Safe on the station. He will be released to you when this is over." His hand twitched and thirty guns jerked upward, loaded not with bullets, but syringes. Liara surveyed the Normandy crew calmly, her barrier distorting the air around her as she stepped away from the group. The Cerberus agent's mind went blank.

Miranda heard Jacob swear as one of the needles hit his shoulder, and felt a tingling irritation in her arm as her own syringe hit home. _Tranquilizers? _she thought, before a cold dread stole through her. _No, _ice_._

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jack's teeth bared in a snarl and flung out an ineffectual hand as the biotic's body glowed. "Jack, wait!"

The woman ignored her, as usual, flinging a shockwave into the line of soldiers and scattering them like leaves. Miranda stood paralyzed as she tore the needle from her shoulder and flung another bolt at them. After a moment, it sunk in.

_The effects of ice are immediate. _Liara T'Soni's calm, quiet voice streamed through her mind. The asari doctor stood with arms braced on the conference table, detailing the effects on organic physiology. _Immediate, cripplingly painful, and fatal if you exercise biotics under their influence. _ Her green eyes were cool as she relayed the information, as unruffled as though she were presenting at a university lecture. _I managed to find video logs of people who did. It was not pretty, and I do not advise it._

What happened next was a mad scramble. Broker agents fumbled for their weapons in the midst of a biotic storm. As the truth broke into her mind, Miranda ducked for cover, slamming an unwary enemy into the floor before reaching for her pistol. Men screamed as biotics roared and shrieked through the room. The thunder of someone's rifle burst over her left shoulder as the turian commander barked orders at his men.

Klaxons began to wail through the smoke and chaos as orange flames washed through the room, raging and devouring. Groans of the dead and dying mingled with the furious curses of the living. Gunfire deafened her.

And over it all rang the laughter of Liara T'Soni.

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Hey guys, sorry for the long hiatus. Hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

"Hold them," Chek snapped. His teeth ground together as the soldier next to him cried out and clutched his shoulder, falling to the slick floor. The sprinklers pummeled his open eyes and Chek knew the the man was dead. The turian's pulse beat against his temples, hard and angry. _Clever bitch. Damn her and damn the Broker. He should never have involved T'Soni._ Above him, the alarms wailed.

A bullet glanced off his barriers, biotics licking in its wake. He lashed out in retaliation, catching the tattooed woman and slamming her to the ground. The Cerberus grunt beside her pulled the human into cover as he shot, forcing Chek back into the doorway. The triple-barreled shotgun left scorchmarks where his head had been. Chek snarled and pressed his back to the wall. The turian could hear the tattoed biotic swearing and struggling. _By all means, let go of her fucking arm. _

The station lights flickered. Where had T'Soni developed preventative measures for the ice? Even he, the Broker's own agent, had only been able to acquire a few syringes.

_She has a mole the system. She must. _Chek rapped out orders through his comm link, locking down the corridors that branched off of the hangar bay. Three feet away, he could hear Aleris cursing the biotic girl. The asari stepped out from behind a set of armored crates and flung out her arm, sending a blue ripple of power down the corridor.

It looked like they were holding the door for now. _Damn_ the Broker.

Who was T'Soni's source? A mole, but not on 51. Or else she never would have come, knowing the drell was elsewhere, and the salarian Tazzik overseeing an arms deal on Bekenstein.

His comm link buzzed. "Sir, we're having trouble shutting the doors. There's someone else in our system."

The turian leaned out of cover. The young krogan had lowered his shoulder and looked ready to charge. Chek fired and a burst of bullets forced the krogan back into cover. The big alien huffed like an angry bull, but did not charge. The woman behind him returned fire hurriedly and the light above the door crashed to the floor and shattered. Aleris snarled as the flying shards opened violet lines on her face.

The turian kicked a chunk of glass away from him and returned his attention to the technician. "Of course you're having interference, did you think Cerberus developed a shackled AI to count credits? It's only one machine. Lock it out. Infect it. _Do your jobs._" He severed the connection, baring his teeth.

Four of his men were still in the corridor, tucked behind defensive niches. More were retreating back toward them, sloshing through pinkish water. _As long as the fools don't charge - _Chek slammed a fist against the wall behind him, springing a ring of barricades around the open door. "Medium and long range. Force them back down that corridor." A pair of orange combats drone zipped past him through the doorway, dripping sparks as they headed for the enemy. "Explosive drones away," the turian behind the second barricade barked. His facial markings painted a red war mask over grey plates. His mandibles pressed tight against his face, just as Chek could feel his own clamping against his jaw.

Chek risked a look through the doorway. Jacob Taylor and his allies were focused on the drones, intent on taking them out before they got into dangerous proximity. No hint of Lawson or Vakarian. That worried him. His gaze swiveled to the salarian sniper. "Find me Lawson and Vakarian."

The salarian bent to the scope, muddy red eyes searching. A string of lights came crashing down the corridor as someone – he wasn't sure who – barreled another shockwave past them.

"Izo, on the other side of the door," the turian ordered. The human scrambled to obey, skidding across the wet floor and flinging a flashbang down the corridor to cover his movement. A startled cry echoed down the hall and Chek knew at least one of the Normandy's crew had been hit.

Izo grinned lazily across the doorway. "Their krogan's down."

"Dead?" a batarian soldier asked, muscles twitching around his eyes. His voice was high and thick. He seemed calm though, and the barrel of his gun was steady enough as he peered through the scope.

"Not yet." The sniper rifle cracked and an enraged roar echoed back to them. "Son of a bitch, where did they find that thing?"

The salarian sniper's eyes never left the scope. "Lawson and Vakarian are at the end of the corridor. I can't get a clear shot. I think they're talking to someone on the ground."

"Sir, they're moving up again." an asari commando called out. "The krogan looks like he's going to charge."

Chek snapped out of cover, trapping the krogan in a white bubble of temporary stasis. He jerked back as the barrel of Taylor's shotgun lit green. The gun chirped and the smell of burnt plasma filled the air. At least the sprinklers mitigated the human's incendiary ammunition.

The knocked out lights and sprinklers were playing hell with visibility. He caught the asari engineer's eye and rasped "Set the dogs on them. No one gets through this door, understood?"

"Yes sir." The asari's omni-tool whirled as she woke the nearest set of mechs. "They'll be here within th next twenty seconds." She looked up at him. "I've called for another squad of commandos as well."

"Pin the Normandy. Tell your commandos to go through the hangar bay and come up behind them."

_Speaking of asari . . . _ He shook water out of his eyes. "Where's Aleris?"

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The station rocked as Jack sent another shockwave pounding down the hall. The Broker's agents were falling back, retreating over the bodies of their dead and firing the entire way. The sprinkler systems sprayed into her eyes and Miranda shook her wet hair out of her face. Beside her, Liara T'Soni knelt on the chest of a downed salarian.

Miranda grabbed her arm and the asari looked at her and shook her head, reading the anger in her eyes. "We need to get to Shepard."The Cerberus agent stepped back and pursed her lips, eyes hard. The doctor was right. Much as she wanted answers, this wasn't the time.

_We can have a nice long chat about the ice later. _

He wheezed as her knee sank in and the doctor pulled him into the relative cover of an alcove. Her pistol came to rest just under his chin as she ignored the firefight around them. "Where is Shepard? Is she still on the station?"

The soldier's eyes , opaque and mossy, darted between her and Miranda. The Cerberus officer gritted her teeth as Grunt charged past her, scattering a retreating group. "Answer her," she snapped. The pistol jumped in her hand as she shot an oncoming batarian.

The alien panted. "I don't know, I don't know. They just got he – "

Miranda blinked as Liara brought the gun down across the salarian's face. Green blood beaded on the muzzle as she pointed it at his face once more. Over her head, Thane's rifle hissed and a gurgling shriek echoed down the passage. "You're wearing the uniform of an intelligence officer. I know you're informed of the situation. Tell me what I want to know," the asari doctor said, "or I break every one of your fingers. When I'm done with them, I'll start on your hands. When your hands are gone – "

"They have her in one of the damp rooms, it's because of the ice, please, I don't – "

Ahead of her, the Normandy team was moving up the hall. Miranda noted that Garrus hung back, eyes on the salarian. His mandibles were clamped tightly to his face, his eyes were a furious blue behind the skull-like stillness of his plates. Miranda repressed a shiver as Garrus stared at the salarian.

The turian broke the silence he'd maintained since they stormed the hangar. "The ice?"

"Her body can't handle any more," the salarian whispered, "they're holding her in the damp rooms until we can arrange transport." His fingers twitched. "The Collectors want her alive."

Garrus lunged forward, shouldering Liara aside. The asari stumbled to her feet, her hand going to her arm where the turian had shoved her. Miranda could hear Jacob shouting orders further up the hallway. She reached out to restrain the turian before thinking better of the idea. One blue eye flicked back to look at her and she snatched back the hand on his shoulder. Ahead of her, the corridor was clearing fast. The screaming and gunfire were more remote.

His gun pressed between the officer's eyes. Miranda saw his chest heave once, his mandibles quiver, before he regained control of himself.

Slowly, Vakarian stood. The turian's gun dropped to his side. The salarian's head lolled to the floor as he exhaled. His body was limp with relief.

His hand crunched. The salarian shrieked and Garrus adjusted his weight, twisting his boot over the alien's fingers. His voice was calm, almost sardonic. "This is a big station. Which cell block are they holding her in?" He leaned his weight forward, onto the salarian's broken fingers. A wet _pop_ made the intelligence agent wince.

Liara eyed the turian sidelong, her gaze lingering on his glaring eyes. Miranda gritted her teeth and willed the salarian to give up the information. They didn't have time to waste.

Garrus shifted, stepping on the alien's elbow joint. Miranda saw the salarian's arm twitch and shiver as the turian increased the pressure. "Tell me." The salarian's arm began to shake.

Garrus drove his heel into the salarian's arm.

"_Tell me."_

The salarian screamed and Miranda heard the gristley splintering as his arm snapped like a wishbone. "D Block, for the love of – "

The Mattock cracked.

Garrus stepped away from the salarian's body. Miranda fell into step next to him. She stepped over one corpse, kicked a limp arm out of the way. Garrus's shoulders were rigid, mandibles clamped. She could hear the hiss of his breath. The Cerberus agent looked away. "EDI, plot us a route to D Block." She heard the sharp report of a pistol up ahead and quickened her steps, bringing her gun up to shoulder height.

"_Take the corridor to your right. Be advised, there is a squadron of soldiers behind you. You may wish to leave a rearguard."_

Samara's voice crackled in her ear. _"Miranda, they are trying to force us back to your position. If we fall back, they will have us pinned."_

"Put up a barrier if you have to," she ordered. "Mordin, Tali, stay with Samara and harass them. I want this route kept clear. We'll fight our way to D Block while you take out the squad behind us. I want a quick exit once we find the commander."

"_Understood."_

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Her breath echoed in the small space. The room was oddly cold, leeching heat from her legs and back where she sat against the wall. The damp room's effects had subsided into a vague pressure at her temples.

Shepard looked down at the knife where it gleamed between her fingers, reflecting the room's dim blue light. She wondered if Chek had gone to meet the Collectors. Minutes past, she had felt the station shudder as Horizon had once had.

_They've docked. _

She tensed against the station's agitation, locked in a cell in the darkness. For a moment, she had been back on the colony, knee deep in yellow grass with while wind heavy with seeker swarms and pollen slid over her skin.

She missed the grass and the open sky. If she had been able to choose her own death, she would have preferred to die on the battlefield. She did not want to die in a hole in the dark.

Shepard looked down at the knife.

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I know, another cliffhanger. I promise the next chapter won't be. Please review, I've missed your lovely voices. =)


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Aleris strode toward the cell blocks, ignoring the chaos around her. The hall resounded with the rhythmic thudding of boots and raised voices of frantic engineers.

Chek had his hands full, but even so, it was only a matter of time before he noticed her absence. She estimated that she had less than fifteen minutes to get to D block.

More than enough time, she thought. Enough time to reach Sana's murderer and flay the skin off her bones before putting a bullet in her head. Perhaps even enough time to get her to the secondary docking bay and off 51, given the way the station was shaking. Chek must be furious at T'Soni's about-face. Aleris couldn't have been more pleased. T'Soni may as well have gift-wrapped Shepard for her.

The Broker's troops jogged past her as their comms spat out instructions. She ignored the jostling soldiers. Chek and the Normandy were all that concerned them; a lone asari in Broker gear was unimportant, no matter where she was going.

She paused to peer through the window overlooking the prison blocks. On the other side, water ran down the glass and beat at gusts of smoke. Ashy grime coated the glass where it met the floor. If there had been a fire, it was dying.

She had expected guards when she reached D block, but it seemed the Goddess was smiling on her today. Two guards sprawled in a charred mess on the floor, their bodies smoking. Turians, she thought, and Aleris' smile grew broader. On the wall behind them, a heating unit sparked and fizzled. Perhaps she had enough time to get Shepard to a ship after all.

Aleris decided that the last thing to go would be her eyes. She wanted to see their expression for a long, long time while she took vengeance for Sana.

"Chek, she's—"

The asari whirled, teeth bared in a snarl to where Schroeder lay with a gun trained on her heart. Her biotics ripped the comm unit from his helmet and the weapon from his hand. Parts of his armor had been burned or blasted away and his legs were bent at odd angles. Blood made a mess of his curling hair and half his face was black with bruises. A tangy copper smell rose from the pool of blood he lay in.

There was a world of fear in his eyes.

"Schroeder," she said, "there's no need to trouble Chek."

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He could see his death in her face. "He knew you would do this. He's on his way."

What a crappy goddamn bluff. His mouth and throat would have been dry as sand if it weren't for the blood welling there.

The corners of her mouth deepened in a smirk. Aleris always smirked before a kill. "I suspect he meant for those two poor, dead turians to be threatening me now. But they don't seem quite up to the task anymore, do they?" She locked gazes with him, and his muscles twitched with the urge to flee. His heart beat a fierce tattoo against his lungs. Her curving lips were a scythe over his head. "Looks like all he's got left is you." The asari's teeth gleamed red in the emergency light and he fought the sudden feeling that the sirens on the station were blaring for Richard J. Schroeder, who was about to die in a prison block in a pool of his own blood.

"I like those odds."

Schroeder scrambled for the pistol at his belt, but it was pinned between the floor and his broken hip. Pain shot through his body and he choked on a sob. His right lung flared with agony; he thought one of his ribs might have punctured it in the explosion that killed the turians. Pain rolled through his gut and he fought the urge to vomit.

A fresh wave of blood washed over his abdomen and ran through the cracks in his armor as he collapsed onto his back. Schroeder could feel the broken rib scraping and stabbing his lung with every breath. He exhaled sharply and twisted. His body screamed its abuse. Blood and bile rose in his mouth, but the gun was no longer trapped. Schroeder's arm shook as he pointed it at her. His finger tightened on the trigger. She was still smirking. He hated her for that.

His voice shook. "Eat it, you bitch."

The asari smiled down at him, biotics gathering around her curled fist. Blue fire whispered along his gun and snaked into the muzzle as the barrel bulged.

The bullet broke through back of the gun with a sound like a hammer hitting an anvil, shattering his teeth before ripping his throat and tearing the back of his skull open. Schroeder fell back, bits of enamel and brain spattering the floor.

Aleris stared at Schroeder and the broken gun for a long moment before her eyes swept to the gore-stained tranquilizer at his waist. She knelt and freed the dripping tranq gun and resumed her stroll through D Block, leaving bloody prints in her wake.

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The lights were flickering all over the station now and the place sounded like a gargantuan beast in its death throes. Away from the gunfire, he could hear the station groan and lurch. He was fairly certain that the last shockwave Subject Zero sent after them had knocked one of the critical power systems. At least the firefight hadn't broken out near life support.

Water beat down on his armor as he strode away from the gunfire, trailing the last asari in his crew. His breath hissed between his teeth and he quickened his pace as he turned the corner. In all the chaos on the station, Aleris might get past the guards in D block. Schroeder would present no challenge to her; he was there to sedate Shepard if she started making trouble - and he had no doubt that, give enough time, the commander would find a way. If Aleris got to Shepard before he did, one of them would end up a bloody pulp. Shepard might even escape again. The lock on the cell door wouldn't hold out against an experienced engineer.

He trusted Izo to hold the hall long enough for the second team to flank Shepard's crew. He trusted the troops on 51 to subdue them, even at the cost of the station. He trusted the Normandy's crew to keep wasting time trying to cut a path through them. He did not trust anyone else reach Shepard.

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She heard the steps outside her cell.

Shepard looked at the door. In her mind's eye, she could see her enemy keying in the code to her cell. Perhaps they would dose her with ice again. Perhaps they would hit her up with another tranquilizer.

Perhaps they would just shoot her.

Shepard stood. The knife was cold in her hand, draining the heat from her hand. Her lungs pressed against her ribs like bars. Her pulse beat like a drum inside her brain, and she was suddenly, keenly aware of the engineering of her body, working in perfect harmony. Her fingers tingled with adrenaline and she felt the sharp sting of it rushing through her. Muscle slid smoothly over bone as her fingers clenched around the knife. She imagined the Collectors waiting to part that organic machinery, to slice her open and carve her down to the marrow.

Would they even wait until she was dead?

She inhaled sharply and moved to stand beside the door.

Beyond it, she heard a soft series of clicks. How many were there? The hair on the back of her neck rose. Shepard tensed.

The door slid open and she slipped through, her body following the long curve of the knife as it arced out and down around the corner. Time slowed, and she felt the impact of armor, of muscle, of bone, before she drove her enemy to the ground. Her knee hit the floor as she buried the knife to its hilt. Biotics erupted from her free hand, destruction raging out in a perfect sphere. The lights above her shattered, glass raining down around her almost musically while the cell doors warped and buckled.

Where she expected to hear screams and the hard crunch of bodies against metal, there was nothing. Shepard's lifted her eyes from the knife to the face of her victim.

She flinched back as she saw the asari's face. The woman's eyes were dimming even as they bored into her, disbelief and fury fading into a blank stare. Little sparks of biotics jumped all over her body, but the asari was too weak to control them. Aleris' hand dropped away from the gun at her side, not even a real sidearm, Shepard saw, just a tranquilizer. She was willing to bet that the asari had procured ice for her as well. Aleris had indeed fucking snapped, as Shepard had predicted. Her hand tightened on the knife and the asari gasped reflexively._ I could really grow to hate needles._

Aleris' mouth fell open and blood welled from the corner, a purple so deep that it was almost black in the dimness. Shepard felt water running down the crown of her head, plastering her hair to her temples and trickling into her eyes. Her ears finally registered the alarms shrilling above her. The sound slammed against her eardrums, harsh after the silence of the damp room.

Something was wrong. The hall was flickering, red-lit, empty but for the dead asari on the floor; the floor itself was awash and shimmering with water. Dimly, she could hear the sound of shouting and gunfire. Shepard brushed a chunk of dripping hair out of her face and felt clarity break into her mind.

The Collectors were not here.

Shepard began to laugh. She snatched up the dead woman's gun, sheathed the still-bloody knife in her boot, and stood. Water beat down like a soft rain, but she scarcely felt its chill in the sudden flush that rushed through her skin. The air smelled like fire and blood and metal and the hall looked like a war zone.

Wild fury and elation rushed through her. Before the hour was out, it was going to be her war zone. And then Shepard was returning home.

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Schroeder's pistol was useless, she had found, as were the weapons of the turian guards, which the blast had destroyed as thoroughly as it had demolished the guards themselves. Shepard held the asari's SMG loosely, barriers licking around her body like flames. No armor, but that couldn't be helped. She didn't intend for the Broker's agents to live long enough for it to matter, regardless.

Broken glass crunched under her feet where the window on her right had exploded. Shepard spared D Block and Aleris a thin smile before a blue-green flash caught her eye.

A comm unit blinked in the dim crimson light and Shepard paused beside a dead salarian. One of the stations electrical panels appeared to have exploded beside him, cracking his helmetless head open like an egg on the opposite wall.

Shepard knelt and picked up the comm, lips pursed. If it was indeed the Normandy who had wreaked all this havoc, and they stayed to standard frequencies, it was possible for her to contact them.

Freeing the comm, she turned, stood and froze.

Scarcely two feet away, a turian stood in the semi-darkness, watching her. "Commander." He nodded at the asari's corpse, twenty feet below. "I thought it might turn out that way." The alarm lights painted a bloody wash over his face plates. His eyes burned as he looked at her, sweeping over the bloodstained boots, to the scuffs and tears in her clothes, to the short dark hair that the water had slicked to her skin. "You're looking much better."

She fought the immediate urge to attack and smiled at him. "It was very thoughtful of you to give me your knife."

He returned the gesture with equilibrium. "I'm glad to see you put it to good use."

She rolled to the side as his biotics lashed out, the steel floor hard on her shoulder. Her own biotics snatched the gun from his hands as he brought it up. The SMG in her hand spat a stream of bullets in his direction, skipping over his barriers like rocks over a pond. One of them penetrated the barrier to clip his cheek, opening a thin line of cobalt. A bubble of warping biotics struck the turian in the chest and forced him back a pace.

He retaliated, a wave of blue throwing her back into the wall. Her shoulder and skull cracked against the wall and her breath hissed in between her teeth as her gun dropped from suddenly limp fingers. She would have to remember that the turian had armor, and she most certainly did not.

Chek kicked the gun away as she reached for it, hauling her up against the wall. His talons dug into her arms. "Shepard, this fight is pointless. The station is collapsing." His face was bare inches from hers, golden eyes drilling into her. "We need to leave before it falls apart."

Her teeth flashed white in the dimness. "How's the Normandy doing?"

Her head rocked and she almost bit her tongue as he slammed her back into the wall. His talons tightened. The scent of gunsmoke and copper drifted between them. She could feel the deep growl beginning in his chest. "It's not your damned ship, Shepard," he snapped.

"Bullshit."

"You can tell that to the Hegemony once they've killed us. Did you honestly think that destroying the Bahak system would have no consequences?"

She hesitated. Guilt lapped at her stomach, a familiar tide against a well-worn shore. "The Hegemony is in chaos," she stalled. "How could they . . .?" Static screamed in her brain, that desperate call to a system that would never hear it. A system where now there was only silence.

His gaze didn't waver. "It's not as it was, Shepard. But the shadow of a dead planet is still enough to kill us."

She started as his barriers dissipated. He stepped back from her, hands dropping to his side. "You can trust me or not, Shepard. What will it be?"

**A/N: OK, I lied. There's a bit of a cliffhanger. Merry Christmas. (Reviews are the best kind of present :) ).  
**


	15. Chapter 15

AN: It's been a while, I know. Hope you enjoy, and as always, reviews are appreciated!

Chapter 15

He held her eyes a few moments longer, and she had to admire his technique. The line about trust had been a thing of beauty.

But her gut said he was lying. And she knew just as surely that she had to play along, or she'd be up against the wall again, with a tranq in her neck for good measure. His eyes were clear and direct, with no flicker of the lie she knew was there. She paused, because to agree too quickly would invite suspicion, staring him down as the seconds ticked by. The station shook again, walls creaking in protest, but inside her head, all was deadly stillness. The shriek of the alarms receded while the red flash of the lights beat like a pulse. The innards of the station dangled from the ceiling, water dripping down like blood in the unsteady light, gushing from the broken piping in the ceiling and running over bunched cords and wiring.

Her stomach burned with something between sickness and rage. She fought to slow her breath, to relax the vise around her lungs. _The hell if I'm going to leave this chunk of rock with you._ Her eyes snapped back to his and she stepped toward him, deliberately challenging his words. Every moment she delayed brought her crew closer to her.

She crossed her arms. "Assuming I believe you, how did the Hegemony hear about me?"

"Tolor sent a message to one of his brothers before he came down to visit you." Not one bite of impatience entered his voice, although his shoulders were a line of tension. She had to give him credit: for cool-voiced lying, he outdid most of the politicians she had met. Perhaps he thought there were still enough drugs floating through her system that she would obey a calm, logical voice more readily. Shepard cocked an eyebrow, a retort on her lips, when the station heaved under their feet and she stumbled back into the wall. Her breath hissed between her teeth and she clutched at the sudden stitch of pain in her ribs.

Firm hands steadied her and she flinched, remembering those talons at her throat. He saw the tension in her face, released her. "Shepard, I will answer all of your questions once we're off this station, but now we need to _move._" His mandibles twitched, but she still had time, could still buy a few more seconds for her crew. Her breath caught for a moment as the impact of it hit her and her throat was tight. The Normandy was close, so close, and here she was being forced to run from them. She bit her lip and fought not to look at the comm unit blinking on the floor, fought not to look into the face of her jailor, bare inches away. The smell of blood and scorched metal hung heavy in the air between them, laced with the sharp tang of mechanical fluids. Her hands began to clench; she forced them to relax.

_They'll find me; I just have to stall him._

His jaw flexed and she broke in before he could speak, lifting her chin. His eyes flickered to the long line of her throat – even when negotiating, he was a predator.

"And then where?" she asked him.

"Does it matter? You live." He moved half a step closer, crowding her against the wall. Damp soaked through the back of her shirt, sending cold trickles down her spine. She suppressed a flinch, determined to give him no vulnerabilities to work on.

Sometimes the best defense was a good offense. "And how long before I end up on a dissecting table, Chek?" she spat. _Make it good._ Shepard glared at him, her eyes slitted and hard. She felt her hands curl into fists again, and let them. Allowed the barest hint of blue to flicker around her white knuckles in the half-light. Allowed him to see her anger writ clearly across her face, and waste a few more precious seconds arguing her around. She leaned forward until she was all but in his face.

He braced an arm on the wall above her shoulder, eliminating the scant space between them. She was close enough to feel his breath on her skin, see the rivulets running over his plates. He cocked his head and the sullen light edged his face plates in crimson, gleaming along the extended fringe so like Saren's. Something nameless ghosted through his eyes and the back of her neck prickled. Shepard matched him stare for stare and didn't move. Perhaps he meant to intimidate her by pushing her back this way, but after you'd headbutted enough krogan, other species started to lose the intimidation factor. She set her jaw and waited for the threats to come and the talons at her throat.

"I heard that Cerberus spent over four billion credits to resurrect you, Shepard." he said softly. She had to strain to hear him over the wail of the alarms. He wore the sort of expression that Garrus saved for intricate calibrations, direct and intent. That small reminder shook her for a moment and her breath hitched. He tilted his head, absorbing her reaction, mandibles flicking once.

_Focus, dammit. _Shepard raised an eyebrow. The mercenary angle. "Worth every cent, too," she said. Her smile cut like a knife. "Why, are you looking to buy a sports car or twenty? The Illusive Man can afford it."

He smiled thinly. "Always wanted a Blackout. I'm sure your Illusive Man will be generous."

_Oh, he'd give you every credit,_ she thought. _Not that you'd be alive to spend it._ She glanced down to hide the sardonic gleam in her eyes. What were a few more lies among friends? "Obscenely so." His armor was freshly scarred, she saw, the scorch marks over the chest suggested incendiary ammunition. _Jacob's handiwork?_ she wondered.

"Have we reached an agreement, Shepard?" He looked almost amused, but the flange in his voice was edged with impatience. He had reached the edge of his tolerance. Her options had narrowed to two choices: agree now, or get stabbed in the neck with a tranq.

She pushed off the wall and he stepped away.

"Time's wasting. Let's move." Shepard brushed past him, sloshing through the mess of water and blood and went to retrieve the SMG from where it had been thrown. It hadn't been lying there long enough to take any damage from the water. He kept silent while she inspected it, as she had guessed he would, voicing no protest.

"This way, Shepard." He was professional enough that no triumph entered his voice, she'd give him that. He jammed his shoulder into a half-open door and began to force the panels apart, bracing himself between them. The metal creaked in protest. Shepard fought down a sigh. It was too much to hope that he'd let them be separated by a convenient, hackable door.

Blue eyes burned in her mind as she stepped under his arm and into shadow.

ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME

"Is it just me, or have we hacked every damn door on this station?"

"_I am doing what I can, Vakarian. Would you like to know how many cyberattacks I have fought in the last nine milliseconds?"_ Simulated or not, the irritation in EDI's voice had been getting progressively stronger. _"You will be pleased to know that D block itself is one unit. This door will allow you to access the catwalks above it._"

"_He's only complaining because he hasn't had anything to shoot in the past five minutes, EDI," _Joker commented._ "Don't let it bother you. Look on the bright side Garrus – no elevators."_

"Joker-" Liara began.

The door's lock chirped and blinked green. Garrus was through it before it had opened more than halfway. Miranda and Liara slid through to follow him. The block below them was a patchwork of jagged shadows that the flashing lights did little to dispel. "Damping cells," Liara commented, looking at the cells that lined the hall below them. "We're definitely in the right place."

Miranda edged onto the walkway. "EDI, can you detect anything in D block?"

"_Besides the three of you? No. Looking for the commander's vitals in this is delicate work; there is too much interference."_

"The old-fashioned way, then," Miranda muttered.

"_However, a door was unlocked approximately ten minutes ago, heading toward one of the smaller hangars below you. Updating your nav point."_

ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME

She noticed, as they walked through the station, that he never strayed more than a few feet from her side. Well within reach for a lunge with a knife, and she had the idea he half-expected her to try it. Shepard was keeping up a strong pretense that he had bruised a few ribs when he flung her into the wall, and could maintain nothing faster. When he'd eyed her briefly, as though contemplating carrying her instead, she'd stopped that idea in its tracks. "So help me, I will not be carried out of the station like a trussed-up varren."

He'd retorted along the lines that at least the varren was less likely to bite, but said nothing more about carrying her.

So they walked. The alarms were quieter now, their shrieks half-hearted and fluctuating at random, and the air had turned chilly. The last quake in the station seemed to have knocked something loose in the environmental systems. Jack's doing, if she had to guess. The biotic had a gift for destruction. Despite Chek's occasional comm updates about the "batarians," she was less inclined to believe his story than before. Batarians would have found the intercom by now to threaten the station's crew with a well-placed bomb or three. In her experience, there were few things a batarian loved more than threatening imminent violence over loudspeaker.

She studied the turian next to her, noting the raised plates and clamped mandibles. His breath steamed in the cold air, draconic, and his eyes were distant. He fairly bristled with impatience at their slow pace.

She couldn't quite resist the urge to needle him. "I have to say, Chek, I can't quite buy that you're only doing this for the money."

"If you're expecting me to confess to sentiments of nobility, you're going to have a long wait, Shepard." the turian drawled, sparing her a sidelong glance.

"Oh no. I assumed that the general ineptitude of your subordinates finally broke the camel's back," she muttered under her breath. She stopped and leaned against a doorway, pressing a hand to her ribs. She winced, keeping her breathing light and shallow. "Damn, I've had charging krogan do less damage."

He reached out to grip her chin, forcing her to look up at him as he brought her away from the wall. Her mouth hardened. Irritation flared in her eyes and she fought the urge to slap his hand away. Shepard was becoming distinctly tired of being _handled_. _Now you're just begging for knife up against your throat, aren't you?_

Chek either didn't notice the hard flex of her jaw, or more likely, didn't care. "You'll have the entire shuttle ride to complain, Shepard. I promise to be as attentive as you like. But lest you forget, _this station is coming down around us,_" he said harshly.

Shepard began to wonder if she'd overplayed the injured card.

As if to emphasize his words, the station creaked and part of the catwalks above crashed down behind them in a shower of sparks. Cat-quick, Chek moved to shield her from the debris.

"Right," Shepard said. She glanced up at the enclosed catwalks above them and froze. Her eyes lit with a sudden silvery brightness.

Chek whipped around to follow her gaze and found himself staring into hot blue eyes about twenty feet above them.

ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME

Miranda heard the barest whisper of a name as Garrus pulled up short.

"Below us," Liara called out softly.

She glanced down, saw a woman leaning against the wall for support on the floor below them, the turian from the hangar crowding her. It took her a moment to recognize the commander in the bruised, pale woman. The inky punk-pixie cut and tattered clothes belonged to a ragamuffin or a junkie and her cheekbone was dappled black and violet. Miranda's mind flashed back to the briefing hours earlier. The Broker's men had probably pumped her full of ice and sedatives and God knew what else - small wonder she looked halfway through a rough detox.

The turian below them reached out and gripped her chin and Garrus hissed in her ear. His eyes were hard, and the light gleamed red off his teeth, cold fury coming off of him in palpable waves. His grip on the Mattock tightened and Miranda sensed the turian was operating on hair-trigger reactions. _Territorial instincts_. _Just what we need._ The air around him felt as raw as an exposed nerve. Not since Sidonus had she seen him look so eager to put a bullet into someone's skull. Miranda grabbed his arm as he made to break the glass with the butt of his rifle. "That will take too long; let me."

She hit the glass with a warp, but it dissipated in blue waves, snaking over hairline cracks in the glass. "Dammit! It's been tempered to resist biotics." She scowled. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but for once I wish we had Jack with us."

Liara holstered her gun and stepped up beside her. Biotics clawed the air around the grim asari. "We'll have to make do."

ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME

He reached out to snare Shepard with a stasis field, but the commander wasn't there. Chek stumbled back as she delivered a sharp kick to his chest. So much for the commander's fragile state.

Shepard lashed out, blue flames snatching his gun from his hand and sending it flying down the hall. Her eyes blazed silver and a hard-edged smile lit her face with a dangerous light. "How are your options looking, Chek?"

He brought up his barriers as she leveled her gun at him. Her bullets halted in midair, inches from his face. "Not nearly as bad as you think, Shepard." He rushed in and Shepard barely had time to pull her own barriers up before he grabbed her arms, cracking his crest against her head. The SMG went spinning off into darkness.

She blinked as orange and black flecks zipped over here eyes and her vision narrowed to a gray tunnel. His talons tightened and she twisted in his grip to throw him over her shoulder. He landed with a heavy _thud_ and tried to kick her legs out from under her.

Shepard leapt back, biotics snapping out to lick hungrily at his armor. She pulled the knife he'd given her from her boot as he regained his feet. It was years since her last knife fight, the only one that mattered in a long history of knife fights, but the almost-forgotten focus and rage surged through her like they'd never been gone. Adrenaline sang through her body as she shifted into a low stance.

"Tell me Chek," she asked, "are you familiar with the saying _an eye for an eye_?"


End file.
